An Excerpt of Flash of the Sun
Jean-Pierre chuckled. “The current moves by the system we have put in place for Ahidjo to manage serves as a palliative, not as a solution to Cameroon’s problems in the country’s chaotic march towards doom.”
“I may need to write that down.”
“The natives of this land have a cryptic and witty side that we tend to ignore. They have a saying that ‘If you make or turn yourself into a banana, monkeys would eat you up in no time.’”
“I will write that down too. Give me a moment,” Clement said, fished for a paper and pen in the room, and then returned with it to the sitting room.
“Do you want me to repeat them?” Jean-Pierre asked.
René nodded.
The Frenchman did and watched his American counterpart in silence as he wrote them down.”
“Done.”
“Good. I was about to add that the world of the people you look up to is a world of interest. Clement, the values they talk about and flash around in the media and in public speaking are for local consumption and for literary definition only. National interest or the interest of the influential class is the technical definition of French foreign policy, of capitalism and of the big powers of this world.”
“I won’t write that one down,” Clement joked.
“Believe me, the West defeated Hitler, but Fascism won,” the Frenchman said suddenly and heaved his shoulder, shaking his head knowingly like someone with a deep secret that he found amusing to share.
“What do you mean?” Clement asked barely above a mumble.
“We learned so many of the methods that Nazi Germany and Fascist Italy employed to control their populations and the nations they conquered. And when I say the West, I mean France, Britain, The USA, Japan, Germany and all the countries that oppose the Soviet Union. In fact, even the Soviet Union too adopted some of Hitler’s methods. Let me tell you something, Clement; our western democracies are quickly evolving into plutocracies.”
“Can you expatiate on that?”
“I will, I will. First, let me take a breath,” Jean-Pierre said with a nod, exhaled deeply, and then continued, “You see; our populations have no clue that when the victorious Allied powers, including the Soviet Union, dismantled the fabrics of the states Nazi Germany and Fascist Italy created, they took not only valuable industrial and technological assets home with them, but also thousands of Nazi Germany’s and Fascist Italy’s military and industrial leaders whom we put to work in our home countries in the development of technologies and means of control. From the Nazis, our governments also learned the power of the media and the results that come from weaving big lies that the people are given piecemeal until they become unconscious of the fact that their way of thinking, their decision-making process, is the result of the information they got fed with over the years, tailored information that suits the agenda of the few who are in real control of our systems. The masses never get to figure out that they are being taken for a ride or that they are being made to serve the purpose of the controllers of the state.”
“You are making an interesting point here.”
“Tell me, Clement! You are a journalist. What are you going to write about the killing of my wife? Nothing! She was an African, the wife of a communist. Of course, it is not news worthy.”
“I will tell her story,” Clement said in a constricted voice
“You said you will!” Jean-Pierre laughed, throwing his hands in the air, “Clement said he will. How are you going to do that when you and I know that your bosses will not allow you to do such a thing? Stories like that do not fit into their narrative of the pacification of Cameroon, of the Western Allies’s fight against Soviet-backed communists in Africa. Tell me, my friend; how many of the articles you wrote while you were here, and which you sent back home ever got published? Or what percentage of your heart-wrenching accounts of the carnage in French Cameroun made it to print in the US media? Huh? Tell me, Clement! Which ones? Time magazine, The New York Times, Chicago Tribune, Los Angeles Times, Washington Post, Newsweek, Philadelphia Inquirer etc. etc. I understand the modus operandi, Clement. My country and your country want our people to believe that France is fighting communism here in Cameroon. So forget about the whole military posturing and chest thumping, my friend. You are a tool in the hands of a master you can’t even fathom.”
“I am not. I also write fiction and nonfiction. I am writing a book on the Cameroonian story.”
“How many Americans, in your opinion, know where Cameroon is? How many of your trend-driven compatriots will bother to understand the plight of a people in the remote continent of Africa, a people their government is telling them their French allies are cleansing of the specter of communism?”
“My story will get across, I promise.”
“I understand your good heart my friend. My concern is the mass media. In totalitarian states like China and the Soviet Union, the state directly controls them, but in our western nations, our bosses, our share-holders, and our secret societies control them. Uh-huh, Clement! The mass media in all the societies are accountable to the governments in power. So, you see, even our media too is still controlled by our governments, though indirectly. So like the citizens of totalitarian states, our citizens too are compelled to hear what their governments want them to hear; they get the information the way our governments want them to get it; and they get bombarded this targeted information at a frequency that our governments deem reasonable to turn them into processed zombies that will serve the ultimate purpose our governments have in mind.”
“God!”
“This is the reality of our world today. The rich and powerful do whatever they want to do, while the poor and weak folks of this world can do only what they can.”
Clement sat forward and dropped his head in his hands, an agonized look on his face. “I am not one of them,” he stuttered, “I hope you can see that. My book will tell it all. Watch—” he left unfinished and stared at Jean-Pierre with quizzical eyes as the sound of artillery shells shattered the tranquility of the Banganté evening.
“It is okay. Our armies start shelling at regular intervals from 17:00 hours every day. It is directed at the outskirts of Banganté. They do the same thing with the other population centers here in the Bamilekéland with the stated objective of deterring the partisans from approaching the towns and camps.”
“Camps?”
“Yes, camps!” Jean-Pierre reiterated, dimming his eyes at Clement. “Mon Dieu, you are not aware of that development. I am glad you came, Clement,” he added with a short laugh.
“What do you mean?”
“I will take you around so that you can see the carnage going on here. We shall do that tomorrow. First, I need to take you Ken’s. I wonder what he would do to me if he finds out that I made you spend an entire night here in Banganté without him knowing about it.”...
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