Victoria, Buea, Tiko: The 2009 Trilogy of Diaries Part 2

Tiko Wharf in 1930: All Infrastructure has now been destroyed. (Wikipedia Common)

Louis Egbe Mbua

All the stories of football triumph and development in Tiko had been made known to all interested parties through the various media, especially the internet. Last Season’s outstanding achievement of that City’s exploits to top the Cameroon football Premier League Championship was an indication of the potential of that determined City. Although such an achievement came as a surprise to others, those who grew up in that coastal city were not the least surprised.

Football is only next to academics and religion in that city given that it is all played and nurtured at the primary school level at least when I was a boy; and that the first primary schools in Tiko were established by missionaries – Basel Mission School, now known as Presbyterian School Tiko Town; Roman Catholic Mission Boys School, now co-educational; Baptist School Tiko Town; and Our Lady’s Girls School Tiko Town, also now co-educational. The Cameroon Development Corporation also established a School in the Upper Costains CDC Quarters , North of the City: today called Government School Upper Costains; and then there was the Council School Motombolombo, Tiko Town, again now known as Government School Tiko Town. These schools were fierce and highly competitive contestants in both football and academics – football matches between these schools of adolescents were like war – Teachers fell out with themselves, pupils friends became enemies, parents refused to talk to each other; and friends became enemies for a short while as emotions went through the roof. It was clear that at least five students would emerge from these institutions to enter Sasse College each year—a no mean achievement given that that College was and still is the premier institution in Cameroon.

In the 1960s and 1970s, there were no secondary schools in Tiko to supplement the football skills of the youngsters or to absorb the fledgling academic talent of the new hopefuls; thus almost all the home grown players who were recruited from these primary schools at the time: Agbor Hans was only in Class seven and about 13 years of age when he played for CDC Football Club, Tiko against Cameroon National greats, Manga Oungene and Captain Mve. Others that may be named include Emaran and his brother, Mayama. This tradition, I assume continues. So, when I decided to visit Tiko this year, the place I grew up, one was expecting wonders in both social and infrastructural development.

As usual, I stopped at the Likomba Roundabout to socialise as it appears, from my observation, the entire Tiko business community has shifted their locations northwards from the sea coast. I was wondering why such a drastic move was of necessity. At any rate, I had some child hood friends who were passing by and immediately recognised me having a drink – Thank God, I have hardly changed all these years of absence – and came over for a good bonhomie of times past. After the mandatory niceties I began my incisive enquiries as to their well being and the progress of the City as well as the citizens.

“Now, where do you work?” I demanded of one of my childhood friends. He looked at me with bemusement; and replied apparently embarrassed: “I am not in employment”. This was a surprising answer as I am aware that this friend received a good and sound vocational education from the local leading Technical College at Ombe, Tiko; and that his father used to be in senior management with the Cameroon Development Corporation (CDC), mostly based in Tiko and Victoria.

Have you applied for work with the CDC? I continued. Well, yes, was his answer. I have applied, went for interviews with the company but never received a reply. So, did you find out what the results were? Did you go to the Head Office at Bota in person? I insistently inquired. He narrated that he had done so; and that he was promised, by the Bota men, a job with one of the factories but again they never came back to him. This is not right; I went on, as you are a Tiko citizen, born here. You have the priority: with your vocational education on your belt. How things have changed, I exclaimed. His face turned downcast, and immediately understood the problem; and so asked no further question on this matter r elating to him. However, I was concerned with one of our senior friends – a showman and professional welder educated at Ombe Technical College and who worked with the CDC in Tiko when I was just turning a teenager -- I had not seen him since arriving Cameroon. So the investigations went in this manner:

“Is Juvet still living in Tiko?” No, he no longer lives here.
It appears he is somewhere in Meanja, near Kumba, they said. Why? There was a serious crisis, they answered. Juvet worked hard and became a senior manager at the Tole Tea Estate and factory just off Buea. Nevertheless, when the CDC who owned Tole Tea Estate, sold the company fraudulently and corruptly, to Mr. Danupolo, he summarily dismissed Juvet without explanation and with no compensation and then replaced him by incompetent people from Douala and other areas of French East Cameroon. Juvet lost his job, his housing benefits and he became extremely desperate. We are not sure right now what he does for a living; or how he maintains his family. He is not the only one who suffered this cruelty. There are so many of them who went to work in Tole, from Tiko, and who are now out of work and desperate because of the corrupt situation of the circumstances.

A few moments later, my attention was drawn to a vehicle entering into the junction of an extremely tattered and overgrown, of what I considered a, path; not because the car was spectacularly attractive but that this was the oldest functioning vehicle I have ever seen in my entire life on this planet. The vehicle appeared to have been cut into two -- in the middle; and then rejoined by welding so that the entire vehicle looked like a sagging beam. Worse still, there was a driver in it! The driver waved to greet us; and we also waved back as is the Tiko tradition of geniality. After he had disappeared into the unkempt path, I decided to find out what this strange incident was all about.

Who is that man? I asked. Oh, he is one of us was the reply. Where is he heading to with that vehicle? Well, he appears to be heading towards the Tiko Airport they answered. I knew that the Tiko Airport was just behind us but not in my wildest dream would have expected myself not to have recognised that particular road leading to the airport -- now a tattered path; and why would such a vehicle be heading to the Tiko Airport in the first place. He is a contractor, they said. What kind of contract does he have with the Airport authorities? He may be supplying chemicals or transporting bananas, they added. I still couldn’t understand the logic. So I went further:

Do people sell bananas and chemicals at the Tiko Airport? My audience looked at me with extreme surprise. As I was about to pose the next question, the roaring sound of a plane was heard – surely a plane was taking off. Within seconds, a bright yellow aircraft was buzzing over our heads. Is that a commercial or a private aircraft, I questioned? No it isn’t; the aircraft is owned by Del Monte Corporation. They use it to spray bananas with insecticide chemicals and other Agricultural aspects. Now I see.

The Airport now is used by multinationals to obtain their profits while the inhabitants are jobless roaming about the streets with no money in their pockets; the evil that men do. As long as they obtain their profits, they could take off and land with their planes, but they have no interest in developing the infrastructure for the people. One now sees why President Chavez of Venezuela is so much against these kinds of exploitative multi-nationals. And furthermore, their actions are an environmental hazard. To be spraying chemicals in a densely populated City is not only unethical but may affect the health of the population. Of recent, a British Company was asked by the courts to pay compensation to victims in Ivory Coast, West Africa, after dumping dangerous chemicals in certain parts of that West African nation causing serious health problems to citizens. Del Monte works hand in gloves with the Cameroon Development Corporation, a company that was created by the British for the social development of the people of Southern Cameroons, while Southern Cameroons was a UN Trust Territory; but this peoples’ company is now working with the Cameroon regime to exploit the land which is legally owned by the indigenes -- the Bakweris. Despite the African Commission on Human and Peoples’ Rights injunctions, they continue to work with the Biya Regime to redistribute lands illegally to administrative frauds; and refusing to pay rents for the exploited lands to the indigenes as prescribed by national and international law. Despite several appeals, they continue to violate the human rights of the natives who are the actual owners of the land. That is the lot of the inhabitants of Tiko and the native Bakweris. This is all happening in the eyes of certain sections of the international community ; and certain Cameroonians from the international community and the regime in Yaoundé; so turn a blind eye as they also may be profiting from this oppressive and corrupt system.

Having seen the deprivation with my own eyes, I never bothered to visit this airport as I had known it when I was a boy; and that it was of international standards, a busy and beautiful Airport that has been neglected to rot while the people wallow in abject poverty. I made a decision instead to visit the old Tiko Town. As we drove through the Long Street, I could noticed few changes as I fully recognised the land mark buildings – Airport Hotel, once the pride of the City—now a shadow of itself, no doubt due, partially, to the destruction of the Airport from whence the Hotel obtained its name, and most of its revenues in long gone golden years. The Junior Service CDC Club is still there, so as the Holforth Stadium where legendary Premiership and other epic football matches used to occur – also a neglected and sorry site. Went passed the CDC Camps, still there.
The Long Street Road to the Town is well tarred and maintained. Reached the Post Office and the Presbyterian Church – where a huge development appears to be in the making; and then met with a shock – the town is so deteriorated that I was lost for words. The roads in the town and the streets have so degenerated that a prose would not do to describe them. The Tiko Market, which used to be one of the renowned business exchange places in West Africa, is now but what one could see as a series of huts with little or no economic activity. As I sat down in front of the old Motor Park and saw the citizens and taxis dodging the accumulated rain water in the deep pot holes that pass for streets, I began to believe that there has been a premeditated plan by the regime in Yaoundé to run down this once thriving city.

"What about the Tiko Wharf?" Well, it no longer functions, I was informed tacitly.
Who exactly is the Mayor of this city? I demanded to know. The Mayor came from America. He brought money and promised to repair this city but so far he has done nothing:

I Devastation

A city was once the envy
Of all the working gentry
Is now like a zombie zone
Of mere man, rock, mud and stone
A depiction of a quiet war:
An impression of true woe
As the impostor the foe
Tries to a spirit destroy
The citizens now a toy
Of all that are a mindful dread:
The roads now a mud to tread
By a people despondent:
Holes the road once resplendent
With life, entrepreneurship,
And industry brought by ships
From all the distant, fine lands
Filled with exotic goods, bands
Of fiery sailors swoop the wharf;
Signs of joy as gentle waves warp
The ship with the gentle breeze
Caressing the quay, a kind of frieze
Of shores that twist to Atlantic
And enter the main Vic’ classic.

The City has gone eerie,
And no signs of the very
Narrow gauge of railways
That had citizens in convoys
Of four to five to and fro
The port to bureaus Afro’
Of now a lost hinterland
Where hovering choppers did land
And the planes droned in turns
In queues to land in turns;
To touch down the hard tarmac
At the Airport’s wonder track.
The track a land of flat runway,
Hardly the end was seen a way
For many a plane overtaken
With now a track so sunken:
The neglect now so all dark
And the Airport now so dank
Arraigned by a single yell’ craft
That Del Monte the company sprout
Use as a means to have a spray
Of a people’s fruits now astray,
And in the hands of outside firms
Who came from different farms?
But now claim the family silver
That took a time to deliver;
And another half a struggle
To get rid of them the tussle.

II Oppression

All they want now is pure love
As were times gone by to solve
The hideous problem a duty
All citizens in empathy,
But now reduced to mere rags
Of poverty, want of beggars;
The bounty of goods to sell
Is but a shadow of a spell
That befits the poltergeist ghost:
Not the kind and happy host.

And a man came from the East;
An idea did him pose a test:
“Here we are as close brothers
And we no longer have bothers
As long as we are free of borders
And a nation united in boulders.”
So the host not a slim ghost
Of now; the proposal in post
That was read in so good a faith
Like the son of the patriarch, Seth:
“Do I have trouble with you?
You are my brother of yore,
But we must renew, each year;
Our faith in the idea of yours”

III Bad Faith and Betrayal

The faith to be was of nought,
The boulders bulldozed the plot
From bad faith and to openly cheat
The denizens from their found treat,
And mortality was the city stalked
As activities les affaires stalled
By the Airport an end closure:
The boulder no shame in feature
But the tax collects the bully
And to hands join in grand folly
Of traitors, agents of oppression
All times a pretence of expression
But behind they do betray
For crumbs no one wants on tray
But a throw they wish of the grapes
That traitors use to spit on graves.

IV Hope

But in this theme is hidden hope
‘Cause people: not in slippery slope
Since they do work in prescience
So win a sort of resilience
That was found in last Apartheid;
Like the one which once existed
Before it was so badly crushed
By the Mighty Boulder plunged
Into the Ocean of Pacific
With the sound so specific
As was heard in fairly far India
Like a Tsunami from Ndian,
In Cameroon’s coast now in chains
By a cheating crowd with no brains.