Monday, August 29, 2016

The Futility of Dehumanizing Cameroon, Africa and the World through the imposition of puppets with the Evil Disposition


“...The Romans construed Jesus Chris’s crucifixion as a defeat, but what do we have today? Christianity triumphed. Jesus Christ never betrayed himself, he never betrayed his mission and he never corrupted the ideas that God wants us to live by. The Cameroonian soul is genuine. It is noble, and it embodies humanism. There is no reason to try to kill it because it will triumph ultimately.”





A Quote from "Disciples of Fortune"



                

Monday, August 22, 2016

France's Relationship with its former Colonies in Africa Idealized





“Remember these, Sons! Truth presented with tenderness enriches the soul of man and enhances humanity in the process. A Franco-Cameroonian relation based on truth and nurtured with tenderness will be to the benefit not only of Cameroon and France, but also of mankind as a whole.”

A Quote from Disciples of Fortune

       

Monday, August 15, 2016

Friday, August 12, 2016

Geopolitics and the Stolen Sarcophagus (Excerpt of "TRIPLE AGENT DOUBLE CROSS")

from the book Triple Agent, Double Cross








November 2008
Conakry, Guinea




The night before was unusually rainy for the Guinean capital. The heavy rainfall could have been considered an irritation if not a catastrophe elsewhere in the world for the flooding it caused in some of the neighborhoods in the city. But for most of the residents of Conakry still reeling from the intense heat wave that blighted the country for more than two weeks, the torrential rains came as a welcome relief. It enlivened their spirits and even brought life to the flora that had been wilting and dying from the intense heat wave from the Sahara Desert. The rain also washed the thick layers of dust off the streets, giving some originality to the color of the asphalt roads.      
      However, for a man walking the streets of Conakry that morning, the effects of the rain and the nature of the city were of no interest to him. His mind was on the Cameroun cemetery.
The man crossed the November 8 Bridge as if nothing else mattered in the world, even though he stayed conscious of the sounds and activities around him. He raised his head fully only once, just as he walked past the Donka hospital located in the city center.
       Any curious bystander watching him at that moment would likely have noticed the thoughtful expression on his face that gave him the academic demeanor of a professor grappling with a worrying phenomenon. The patches of grey hair on the man’s head made it look like he was balding prematurely, since it contrasted with his athletic gait that could only have been expected from a physically fit person in his late thirties or early forties. However, the stranger was a quinquagenarian with more life experiences than most men his age.
       An expression of sweet reminiscence spread across the stranger’s face as he walked the street of the Cameroun neighborhood and entered the cemetery. Nevertheless, this look of appreciation at the fact that a Guinean neighborhood was named after his country suddenly changed to one of extreme seriousness as he approached the grave. He knew what he would find as he steeled himself and took out the flowers from the inner pocket of his raincoat. He laid them on the empty grave deprived of its sarcophagus, and then crossed himself several times. He mumbled a short prayer after that, and then turned around and walked away, wondering whether the world would ever find the embalmed body of Félix-Roland Moumié that went missing after the death of Guinea’s first president Sékou Touré.
       The lone figure that stalked the Conakry morning that day stated in his memoirs written two decades after the assassination of Vincent Ndi, and half a century after the system killed Ruben Um Nyobé, Félix-Roland Moumié and a host of other prominent Cameroonian political figures that he visited the graves of all the martyred UPC leaders he knew while growing up. He said he did that just to pay his respects and be at peace with himself. He also stated that he visited the Cameroun Cemetery in Conakry on more than five occasions. 
     On a curious note, he stated that Vincent Ndi would have been disappointed with the character Ivan Fru became, and then went on to add that he kept his promise to Vincent Ndi by tracing and reactivating the political genius referred to as ‘The Green’, but whose actual code name was Le Rouge. He stated in one of the pages that Le Rouge gave that phase of the struggle against the Franco-Cameroonian political establishment its ideological direction, and that he too got betrayed in the end. 



       






Tuesday, August 9, 2016

The Enigma (Sample Chapter of "Triple Agent Double Cross)

 Excerpt of  Triple Agent, Double Cross






The New Jersey morning was calm, with the warmth of the mild 1990 spring weather made all the more soothing by the sea breeze.
    Retired CIA officer and diplomat Peter Atkins, who before was having misgivings when Clement Coulther called him over for coffee at his home overlooking the calm waters of Morris Canal, now thought it was a good day too. As he took a sip from his cup of coffee and bit on the croissant in his left hand, he thought there was no reason to harbor regrets for driving all the way from Newark. His friend had treated him to a sumptuous English breakfast of poached eggs, sausage and cheese, graced with salad and mandarin. When his friend’s son Vincent-Dieudonné served them with freshly baked croissant afterwards, he knew the family was making his day.
     The young man felt at ease calling him Uncle Steve and they even bonded a lot better than the relationship he was having with his own sons. The fact that the young man referred to him everywhere as his godfather warmed Peter Atkins’s heart enormously.
     Peter Atkins remembered the day Vincent-Dieudonné and his parents—Clement Coulther and Delphine—arrived at the US embassy in Cameroon. He had recoiled at the affection his American compatriot showered on the young African woman and her son. But it was the boy’s smile at him that turned everything around—it was the warmest smile he had ever received from a child—prompting him to tickle his cheek. Vincent-Dieudonné’s laughter from the tickle had placed the child in a special spot in his heart in such a way that he made it a point afterwards to always check on the family each time he flew back home from abroad or from a vacation. He was glad when the Coulther parents asked him to become Vincent-Dieudonné’s godfather. He even made sure thereafter that Vincent-Dieudonné and his two younger brothers got to know his own two sons to the point of becoming very close friends.
    Therefore, the fact that Vincent-Dieudonné matured into a fine young man who took his studies seriously and became an A-plus medical-student in his final year at the University of Medicine & Dentistry of New Jersey, made him proud that he stuck his neck out for the family back in Cameroon when insecurity was a major problem as the government of the newly independent country and its French backers battled the UPC partisan movement.
     Peter Atkins smiled at the view of the Liberty State Park. It was so picturesque that he even fancied himself buying a home nearby.
    The smile was still on his face when he looked up from his cup of coffee to find the approaching figure of Clement Coulther. He watched his friend walk back to the porch and settled again in his seat.
    “It is Ryan again. He had the guts to interrupt our wonderful discussion with that stupid phone call.”
    “What did he want? They are always asking for something.”
    “Money! What else? It is about two weeks ago that I gave him more than enough money for his needs.”
    “Our kids! He is a lot like you in so many ways.”
    “Huh!” he grunted, “The price for a day’s horniness.”
    “Uh-huh!”
    “The spendthrift wants to go to France this summer and may be getting his way with it.”
    “You said he hasn’t worked all year.”
 Clement chortled. “He sure knows how to get his way around the money problem. Michel offered to pay for his flight tickets. I wonder what else he promised the sleazy fellow.”
    “Leave the boys alone. They are bonding in their own way. Besides, Ryan still has to learn to live with the person in his skin. He is smart, energetic and full of ideas. Knowing the world is another way of finding his bearing in life. Just like you, my dear friend.”
    “I didn’t find my way with somebody else footing the bills.”
    “By the way, how is Michel doing?”
    “He is done with his third divorce and preening himself for a fourth marriage. His fiancée is German.”
    “An unusual development, I would say.”
     Clement nodded. “My boy is trying to come to terms with his heritage. He told me he is even considering picking up German citizenship as well. He plans to introduce her to the family on Thanksgiving.”
    “I am proud of you, my friend. You did a brilliant thing when you brought him to America. I think that change of environment helped him build his self-esteem and develop his love for languages, to the point where he is the polyglot and engaging businessman he is today.”
    “I should have embraced him fully as my son a lot earlier. I was almost too late.”
    “You did it when you were ready. How many Americans do you know who adopted children fathered by Nazi soldiers that were born to French mothers?”
    “His father was a patriot just like us, or so, says Michel’s mother. It doesn’t matter that he was a German patriot.”
    “What the heck!”
     Clement nodded. “Now, you were about to tell me something about Cameroon.”
     Peter Atkins thought about it for a moment, and then tilted his head a little. "Huh! I did. I certainly did. Not much to say about it, though. We got covert information from Cameroon about elusive killers purported to be working for the underground opposition. It appears they are responsible for the garroting and throat-slitting deaths of two Cameroonian agents two weeks ago.”
    A strange expression of thoughtful reflection suddenly appeared on Clement Coulther’s face. The nature of Pierre Ducros’ death still puzzled him. His killer slashed his throat after garroting him to death. René Roccard was shot by an unknown gunman the next day. So when Vincent-Dieudonné told him a week later that he met a Cameroonian at an African party in Marseille who gladly treated him like a long lost relative and confided in him that he, Clement Coulther, had saved his life in Cameroon, his mind had gone back to Gavin. That piece of information stirred so many questions and doubts on his mind.
     As he darted a look at the puzzled face of Peter Atkins, Clement Coulther knew he dared not voice his far-fetched suspicions. He did not want to even imagine that the bright-eyed kid he rescued from the hands of an overzealous French lieutenant colonel could become a killer whose activities straddled two continents.
    “That country appears doomed to eternal deception until God-knows when or what,” Clement Coulther said and heaved a sigh.
    “Uh-huh!”    
    “Now, we were talking about the new congress and how President Bush differs with Reagan over the handling of relations with the Soviet Union,” Clement drawled.

     Peter Atkins started speaking again, but Clement Coulther’s mind was elsewhere, as he grappled with the question of Cameroon, the inconclusive war against its inclusive civic-nationalism and his suspicions about the little boy he had not been able to trace for close to thirty years.







     



Monday, August 1, 2016

A Call to Humanity (Excerpt of the book "The Union Moujik")---A Poem/Anthem

The Union Muzhik

The struggle continues for the Union-Muzhiks.
Our struggle began with the creation of the Soyuz Republic,
That December night gave it life.
That was the day of the Soviet Union’s burial.
Union-Muzhiks have realized the dream of humanity.
Union-Muzhiks have an envied republic to call home,
Not in arrogance, but in appreciation of their humanism.
Selfish nationalists have destroyed a struggling epoch,
But we are reliving its reformed version in our union republic.
Our epoch embodies bread, love, morality, solidarity and wine.

Union-Muzhiks do not judge by the color of the skin.
Ethnicity, nationality, race, religion or ideologies have no basis,
The Soyuz Republic of muzhiks does not harbor biases.
Union-Muzhiks judge the mind only for the sake of progress.
Union-Muzhiks appreciate humanity’s worth.
Union-Muzhiks do not shriek with hatred but smile with joy.

The Soyuz Republic of muzhiks has a new breed of humans.
Union-Muzhiks have minds that strive to enlighten.
Union-Muzhiks never forsake their fellow humans.
Not until serenity becomes an integral part of our world.

Union-Muzhiks, Union-Muzhiks—

Union-Muzhiks, Union-Muzhiks—






                 

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