Excerpt from the 1992 Historical/Political Thriller "TRIPLE AGENT, DOUBLE CROSS"
I
The other four men understood exactly what Gavin meant in his
reference to the Bafoussam incident. The story of the contemptuous security
officer who shot dead a lawyer for defending Anicet Ekane, Black Yondo and
Albert Mukong in their fearless opposition to the government and their campaign
for multiparty politics and democracy in Cameroon was still fresh in the minds
of most Cameroonians opposing the oppressive nature of the system and the mediocrity
of the government. The murder exposed the horrors of the Pablo-Nero regime at
home and abroad in a major way, something the system was still trying to clean
up. It became an open secret that the trigger-happy officer had the tacit
backing of his superiors.
II
The news generated by the filing of
the documents sent waves of surprise rippling through the fabrics of the
nation’s public service, to the point where all of Cameroon’s regional
administrators were in the loop on the actions taken by Vincent Ndi’s disciples
by nightfall that day. Ndam Saidou first heard of the momentous move by the
rising opposition barely minutes after Pierre Dumas’s plane took off for
Douala. He acted promptly by informing the president, the French ambassador, and his favorite wife. Then he
contacted his security men in Bamenda. The next few hours found Ndam Saidou
bound to the telephone—answering questions and giving out instructions to the
various ministerial heads, his indecisive men,
and some concerned relatives and friends.
With the entire security branches
of the government on the alert for agitators by noon that same day, and with
the different agencies receiving updates on developments every now and then,
Ndam Saidou broke his first kola nut of the day and ate three pieces in rapid
succession. However, overzealous subordinates in the nation’s security and
intelligence agencies carried out sixteen politically motivated arrests
throughout the national territory within the first twenty-four hours of the
move made by Vincent Ndi’s men, signaling the determination of the regime to
bring everything under control.
Despite Ndam Saidou’s strict orders that the pressing confusion within
the government’s ranks stays within the
alcove of his department, leaks to the press came from Douala and Bamenda.
Words spread around like wildfire. A burgeoning opposition was openly in the
making. Black Yondo, Anicet Ekane, and Albert Mukong were being rewarded for
their audacity in voicing out the inevitability of multiparty democracy in
Cameroon.
Pablo-Nero Essomba was out of Yaoundé at the time the filing of the
documents took place. But when the news reached him in his home village in the
south of the country where he was flexing his muscles playing golf with his
friends, he dropped the golf clubs and raged. However, when he called his
trusted clansmen in Yaoundé and got the real gravity of the situation, he cut
short his sojourn and returned to the nation’s capital in a hurry. He wasted no
time after that and dispatched emissaries to the men of his secret committee,
informing them of the severe blow they had just suffered and demanding their presence in the emergency
meeting to be held in the Unity Palace that evening.
The Advisory Council that became
known as the Essingan Grand Council met at 22:00 Hours that night in the
president’s special consultative room in the Etoudi Palace.
The president and Bernard Onana Melemve, the Lord Mayor of the Yaoundé
City council, were the last to enter. They looked haggard and insecure as they
strode in and received the men who came forward to offer fraternal greetings.
Then the president gestured the men to the available seats before he sat down
himself. Bernard Onana Melemve had the appearance of an extremely pensive man
as he took the soft seat by Pablo-Nero Essomba’s side and reclined in it.
Silence prevailed in the room for
a moment while the president closed his eyes and ruminated. Bernard Onana
rubbed his brows and allowed himself to be consumed by reverie. Pablo-Nero
Essomba was his junior and protégé during the time that they attended the same
secondary school in Sangmelima. He had acted, in most respects, like an older
brother to Pablo-Nero whose skinny stature and aversion for violence made him a
feeble lad in school.
Bernard Onana’s mind reeled
further to their student days in France. He had used his influence and
affluence again by securing a place for Pablo-Nero Essomba at the Sorbonne
University of France. He returned to Cameroon right after his studies, a move
Pablo-Nero Essomba emulated two years after
when he too returned home after graduating from the prestigious French
university. And once again, he went ahead and used his connections to secure a
job for Pablo-Nero in the finance ministry before bringing the young protégé to
the full attention of the first Cameroonian president Ahmadou Ahidjo.
But that was not all about it. Bernard Onana relentlessly guided and
guarded his secret protégé through the rough years of the Ahidjo regime, doing
his best to convince the Cameroonian president that Pablo-Nero was the best and
most reliable choice of all his subordinates from the Christian-dominated
south.
Bernard Onana looked at Pablo-Nero
Essomba by his side and smiled. He was glad his plan worked, or at least a part
of it. A man of Beti origin made it to power as the president of Cameroon after
all. So, what more could he expect?
He remembered the intrigues he got pulled into, just to convince the
Gaullist ambassador that Pablo-Nero was the best successor apparent for Ahidjo,
while secretly supporting the socialist opposition in France. His deception
paid off with the ascent to power in 1981 of the French Socialist party
candidate Françoise Mitterrand. The new French president kept his promise to
make the future rosy for him and his protégé.
Bernard Onana recalled the fine
lines of the plot that caused Ahidjo to unseat himself,
and even mused at the irony of it all. He still could not understand why a man
who had collaborated in the massacre of hundreds of thousands of genuine
Cameroonian souls could believe that he would be bypassed by death if he
relinquished power. Even when the tussle for a
successor began and Ahidjo resigned, thereby dangling power for their camp to
consolidate, Bernard Onana did not dwell on personal ambitions. Instead, he
settled on becoming the non-titular head of Cameroon. He kept that role until
his semi-retirement in the mid-1980s. He always felt a sense of satisfaction at
the prominent role he played in dramatizing Ahidjo’s involvement in the failed
bloody coup against Pablo-Nero. He convinced Pablo-Nero Essomba thereafter to
consolidate his rule by becoming ruthless, selective, and discriminatory.
Not until an unusual development started
taking place a year after the coup did it become apparent to Bernard Onana that
he too was being subtly shoved to the sidelines. Now, Pablo-Nero and his aides
were earnestly courting him again because of the threat of organized
opposition.
Bernard Onana considered himself a sage in
discerning effects and knew that people in his circle also viewed him as a
master in uncovering plots and devising counterstrategies. This was owing to
his reputation built over the years as a man with an ear to the ground. And it
was paying off after all. He was informed. He had invaluable contacts.
Dozens of eyes were fixed on the president as
he got up from his seat, held his hands together and addressed his men. He
started by offering fraternal greetings and then
proceeded with a softly spoken apology for the suddenness of the
meeting. He praised their commitment to collective power by turning up in their
complete numbers. Then he told them about Vincent Ndi Chi. He told them that
Vincent Ndi’s men killed their kindred and kinsmen Jean-Baptiste Ondoa, Bertrand
Oyono, Maurice Nze Mezang and ‘The Twins’—Gilbert Owona and Roger Eloundo. When
he added that their rule was being challenged by an organized opposition, the
men sat up in their seats as if prompted to do so.
It took Pablo-Nero Essomba about half an hour
to express his thoughts and observations before he sat down again and gestured
to one of the three Israeli-trained agents by his side. Serge Ayissi Mbida
stepped forward, opened a file and then started reading from it.
The men listened to the details of Operation
Clean Sweep with peculiar attention unfound even in Lucifer’s trials. It took
the Israeli-trained agent more than an hour to do so, moving over to the
reports made that day, along with the activities surrounding Ivan Fru’s
stunning blow to their power. It covered everything from the impressions of the
governor of the Northwest Province, to
Ndam Saidou’s analysis, and even reports from the committee’s special agents in
Bamenda. There were beads of sweat on his forehead when he finished.
“Unbelievable!” Joseph Tshoungui, the
loud-speaking minister of higher education, exclaimed, breaking the tense
silence in the room.
Though in his sixties, Joseph Tshoungui was
still as vigorous as a bull and maintained his childhood nickname “The
Wrestler”. True, he was involved in wrestling duels during his boyhood and
early manhood, but those duels were on the dusty playgrounds in his home
village. As it turned out, he never became a professional wrestler and never
took his wrestling venture beyond the district level. However, the indecisive
Joseph Tshoungui climbed the academic and career ladders to become a professor,
thanks to scholarships and the absence of
a pragmatic education ministry at the time. The position allowed him to feast
and wine on unlimited bribes and embezzled money, to the point where he
developed a potbelly that he had to use a corset to support. He even developed
pride in his potbelly to the point of calling it his executive belly, that is,
until he became the victim of jeers from the university students and of
frequent caricatures tagged on some walls of the university campus. When he
finally told his friends and family that he would do something about his
potbelly, nobody took him seriously.
However, eight months of dieting and
exercises monitored by a famous judo trainer brought Joseph Tshoungui’s
potbelly to the present form that saw a change in his gait and the birth of his
virile vendetta. Joseph Tshoungui’s claim to have bedded more than five hundred
student lassies before he left his job at the university became an open secret
in Yaoundé. The university students who expressed their indignation over his
blatant dishonesty and favoritism were either ignored or victimized, leaving
many to wonder what his limits were. The professor and some of his colleagues
masterminded a racket that awarded certificates to many of their female
students based on the “Bottom Power” of the young women, a practice otherwise
known as BP. The fact that nobody brought them to justice for abusing their
powers said so much about the system in the country. Instead, he, like most of
his partners, saw his days brightened even further with the rise to prominence
of Pablo-Nero Essomba. When Joseph Tshoungui rose up the ranks to the position
of Chancellor of the sole university and then became
the minister of higher education shortly afterwards, the population did not
rejoice with him.
“But it is real,” the president
replied in the Ewondo dialect.
The men quickly understood the president’s
intention as they fidgeted in their seats. He was trying to strike a familiar
note that they conduct the rest of the proceedings in their native tongues that
were mutually intelligible. Pablo-Nero was obsessed with the belief that a
shared sense of purpose would reign in their midst if they deliberated in a
pervasively Beti-Fang atmosphere.
“You may excuse me,” Gilbert Emana
Ewane intoned in Ewondo, corrupted with Bulu words.
All eyes riveted on him as he rose from his
seat and moved to the center of the room, to the president’s side.
“You are welcome. Now, tell us what
you have in mind,” the president said.
Gilbert Ewane coughed lightly and then grimaced. “Accept my respects, Mon Président, and my brothers. Please share my
modest analysis of this problem with me. I thought about it deeply, but I may
be wrong. After all, I am human,” he said, paused for a moment and then cleared
his throat.
Like his cousin, Joseph Tshoungui, Gilbert
Ewane was also as vigorous as a bull. He was the territorial administration
minister during Ahidjo’s last years in power, but opted for retirement two
years into Pablo-Nero’s presidency, surprising many with the unusual act.
However, the president found his deep insight into administration invaluable to
his hold on power and decided to make him an honorable member of the Advisory
Council.
“Go ahead. Your brothers are anxious
to hear you,” the aggressive-looking Brigadier General Louis Oyono urged.
This high-ranking military officer abhorred
talks from his colleagues to the effect that he was promoted beyond his
capabilities. His mental soundness was beginning to pose as a source of worry
to a rising number of associates.
Gilbert Ewane nodded, grunted lightly and then
continued. “We can deduce from today’s move that Joseph Lambo’s movement has
been active for quite some time now. How he managed to keep us completely in
the dark about it, I don’t know.”
“Uh-huh!” the president muttered.
“Yes, my brothers, they surprised us
with the signatures. That means we were intentionally kept in the dark, or our
insiders and agents could not come across the right information and leads that
we badly needed. Being kept in the dark can be explained thus: Our contacts and
administrators in the provinces of dissidence knew about Joseph Lambo’s
activities but decided to be quiet about it. If that’s the case, then they
welcomed this opposition. The only information from our Anglophone friends
pointed to an unpopular movement led by John Morchu who is currently based in
Nigeria. But that man is fickle. He is someone who can easily be bought.
Besides, nobody needs to be reminded that Cameroonians of the Anglophone
provinces detest affairs that have a Nigerian bearing.”
“You are right. Anglophone
Cameroonians hate any association with Nigerians, especially the Biafrans—that
is, the Igbo people. I almost received a slap from my Anglophone colleague the
other day after I called him a Biafran. I am glad he didn’t raise his hands
against me because I would have shot him,” Louis Oyono said, stirring laughter
from the other men in the room.
“That goes to confirm my point,”
Gilbert Ewane accepted with a nod, “No Cameroonian movement can afford to have
a base in Nigeria and expect to be taken seriously. Now, we uncovered Vincent
Ndi without any outside help. But he was unimportant all along. Joseph Lambo
was and is still the real brain behind this inconvenience that we are facing
today. I became firmly convinced a few hours ago that he instigated Anicet Ekane,
Black Yondo, and the stubborn Albert Mukong into making an open attempt to form
a political party. Then, after creating a scene to his favor, he brought
Vincent Ndi into the picture. Joseph Lambo was smart enough not to entrust
Vincent Ndi with the real documents. He didn’t even let him know of their
existence. Instead, he used him to set us up with fakes. Our success in getting
hold of those fakes made us complacent. Yes, we let our guard down because we
were convinced the job was done and nothing further would happen.”
“Uh-huh,” Pablo-Nero said again.
“What did Joseph Lambo do with
Vincent Ndi out of the picture?” Gilbert Owona proceeded.
“Tell us,” Louis Oyono offered.
“The bait he has chosen, is a
shopkeeper, someone we didn’t plan to incapacitate under Operation Clean Sweep.
I strongly believe that our security men were either tricked into downplaying
this shopkeeper’s importance or he got shoved into the scene and limelight at a
late stage, or just recently.”
“I share the last assumption. That’s
why he was always an unknown entity,” Louis Oyono said.
Gilbert Ewane nodded politely, smiled
benevolently at the president and then continued. “But I was also thinking that
perhaps this shopkeeper is the real brain after all. Perhaps he truly is the
person directing the affairs of that movement. If that’s the case, then he is
getting his financial assistance from the Bamileké people, and probably the Maguida
people as well, with Joseph Lambo acting as the principal donor. People from
those two ethnic groups have been out to get to this government since our brother
made it to the helm of power.”
The men in the Advisory Council were quiet and
thoughtful as they watched Gilbert Ewane recollect his thoughts. His assumption
was weighty enough to merit some concern, especially over the Bamileké support.
The council members had supported Pablo-Nero Essomba when he tried to curb the
economic hegemony of the Bamilekés, a move that brought very little success
with it.
But none of the men seated there that day
wanted to talk about the failed unofficial policy. The mafia-style ethnocentric
oligarchy had scooped out of the public coffers and invested some of the
embezzled money in members of the Beti ethnic group, in a bid to create new
competitors against the Bamileké commercialists. The money got squandered
without the Beti businesspersons getting themselves into positions that were
strong enough to enable them to dislodge
the Bamileké commercialists from the business fields they wanted to lead or
take over. What Pablo-Nero and his close kinsmen found irksome was the fact
that the Bamilekés grew stronger instead and resorted to discriminatory
business practices of their own. Banks with high government stakes that were already
faltering from mismanagement, corruption,
and low liquidity were deprived even further as many Bamileké people withdrew
their savings, forcing most of these financial institutions to collapse in
their numbers. Gross mismanagement, corruption, and disorder reigning in the
public services further aggravated the looming economic crisis. The
public-sector workers, dominated by ethnic Betis, ended up suffering the most
as they found themselves in the cold and forced to adapt or perish. Many
state-owned enterprises also collapsed, but the Bamileké business community did
not crawl, leaving many people wondering what their next reprisal would be.
“But I was also thinking,” Gilbert
Ewane continued with a stern face and narrowed eyelids, “Ivan Fru’s move today
was too hasty, unexpected and damaging. He must have been signaled to act, or
he sensed our likely move. We were talking with the president yesterday about
plans to work out new legislation that would alter the rules governing the
formation of political parties, and today, while the old laws are still in
place, Ivan Fru made his move.”
“There is nothing to convince me that
the imbecile isn’t wielding supernatural powers! He must have figured out our
likely move because you were the only ones I talked to about my plans to change
that law,” the president said.
“Then he sensed it,” Gilbert Ewane
affirmed, “He used time against us. He caught us unawares. Time is of the most
essence in any game. We shouldn’t delude ourselves that we haven’t suffered a
grave blow. We should reduce the impact immediately by returning a fast one.
Operation Clean Sweep should be executed next week. Ivan Fru should be on that list as well.”
“Please, let’s be clear-headed about
this. I see no reason why we should alter the timetable the intelligence
service came up with,” the president said casually and then coughed lightly,
“Brothers, take my word for it. Pierre Dumas is working things out with Ndam
Saidou. We shouldn’t do a thing without their consent or input. Also, I won’t
tolerate another hasty and messy job that has the potential of getting us into
trouble, or landing us into another inglorious fix.”
The men in the council understood the mess he
was talking about. The poor handling of the Black Yondo/Albert Mukong-led
defiance against the government tarnished its reputation at home and abroad,
forcing the Pablo-Nero regime to contradict itself, to the point of accepting
that there was nothing unlawful about responsible citizens forming political
parties because the constitution said so. The affair also stirred a sense of
awareness among Cameroonians and revamped their daring spirits. And as if that
was not bad enough, the private press led by the local newspaper mogul Pius
Njawe was getting bolder and bolder every day, doing a commendable job of
fueling the growing sense of confidence among the dissenting voices in the
country.
Gilbert Ewane nodded and took a deep breath.
“We can’t afford a repeat of that mess. Those men should have been eliminated
and not put on trial.”
“The territorial administration
minister ordered the police to arrest Black Yondo and his two associates
without consulting even a single one of us here. Hmm! I never trusted that man.
He is sly like a snake, their totem,” said Pierre Amba Ayissi, the bald and
onerous minister of defense.
“Those men are free today because of
that premature move. Phew, and some of our people here even consoled themselves
with the fanciful thought that the men’s plans were thwarted,” said Bernard
Onana.
“Can I make a suggestion?” Joseph
Tshoungui offered.
“You are welcome,” the president
answered with a nod.
“Those men on the list should be put
under surveillance right away. There is something else I need to add to this
issue. The intrinsic knowledge of this operation should stay within this
council. I strongly recommend an increase in our numbers to twenty. The future
members of this think tank should be our Beti kindred residing in the other
provinces. They should be men who are well-versed in the activities and people
out there. It is good to have Ndam Saidou fully involved in this. Not inside
this council, though,” Joseph Tshoungui
said.
There was a moment of murmurings and private
conferences in the room as the men shared ideas and sought each other’s opinions.
Joseph Tshoungui who was ruminating in a reclining manner in his seat, noticed
Bernard Onana whispering into the president’s ear.
“There should be a greater
representation from the military!” Louis Oyono bawled.
The president waved the brigadier general quiet and then turned to Joseph Tshoungui.
"We were coming to that,” he said.
“Also, I strongly suggest that the
information and territorial administration ministries be headed by our men,”
Joseph Tshoungui offered.
“This isn’t an alarming crisis to
warrant such drastic and hasty moves. The men in those ministries are close to
me and are proving to be effective in their duties. A slip or two from a
loyalist shouldn’t be dealt with like it was an act of betrayal,” the president
said.
“You can’t call that man a loyalist.
I trust that Bamoun minister as much as I trust an untamed cobra,” Louis Oyono
disagreed forcefully.
The general’s sudden outburst caused a
chilling silence in the room. The men in the council knew the basis of his
resentment. The territorial administration minister slept with his girlfriend
and daughter, all within a month. Louis Oyono’s vocal claims that he used
charms were often laughed upon by the few he mentioned the scandals to, but who
were kindly aware of his low values as a family head.
“Tougher times are still to come,”
the president said, downplaying the military man’s sudden outburst.
“We should be prepared,” Joseph
Tshoungui offered.
Commencing in a low tone, the president told
them about his plans. He told them that he was planning to transfer all his
outspoken generals to the provinces as operational commanders. The council
members were made to understand that he intended to replace most of the
divisional and senior divisional officers with Beti people and his loyalists.
Describing how the administrators would coordinate their activities with the
security forces, the president gave the impression that the whole set-up would
be an efficient machinery to stamp out any future political upheaval and threat
to their rule. He told them that their people would be appointed as governors
to the restive provinces in the upcoming gubernatorial reshuffle. Then he
explained the details of how the provincial heads of the government would work
out coherent strategies to be applied in the lower administrative bodies under
their jurisdiction.
The president’s voice rose as he harangued. He
assured the men that their elite powers would stay entrenched for years to
come, and in the same breath, he downplayed the Bamenda and Black Yondo/Albert
Mukong incidents as minor setbacks that were actually helping to stir them out
of their complacency. Now, they were having a good grasp of the changing mood
in the country, coming at a time after they just secured and strengthened
France’s commitment to their stay in power. The president promised his men that
the whole affair would work in their favor,
and that the backward Graffis, primitive Northerners, ignorant Anglophones and
chauvinistic Littoral people would be made to crawl.
Pablo-Nero Essomba’s body started trembling
from his nervous exertion as he continued speaking. “When I became the
president of this country, my intention was to transform it into a modern
nation-state and usher in a special type of democracy. But I experienced
betrayal from within my own camp. I was even attacked by our enemies who closed
their eyes to my honest intentions and purposes. Yes, I was left alone in the
cold to brave matters out when affairs became messy. But you, my people, stood
by me all the time. I would have resigned, but you made me see the light, the
true essence of my stay in power. This power is our power. We must get the best
out of it before it slips out of our hands. That’s why we need to be on our
guard; that’s why we need to be prudent all the time. We could have spared
ourselves the trouble of an opposition today had we avoided careless mistakes.
Still, I must reiterate that they are of no consequence. We have unflinching
allies in the French. They are the only external power we can fully rely on,
not forgetting our mutual interests,
though. That is why we must cooperate with them all the time to defend those
common interests against this UPC-inspired specter.”
Then in a fashion that would have won
applause in a comic show, the president got up from his seat, whirled and
stamped his feet several times on the floor as if treating himself to a solo
Bikutsi dance. He went on to hit his forehead with his left hand as if hoping
to jolt it into full function and then he started pacing the room.
“You know, as a teenager, I even
harbored ambitions to become a priest. But it was my destiny to become a
politician and protect my people. When I became the president, I wrongly
thought that the people to be protected were the entire Cameroonian people. I
even held the Bamileké people closely, believing that we shared some aspects of
our history as centers of past liberation movements, only to discover that they
too had an eye on my seat. Even the Anglophones who prevented the northerners
from seizing power in the last coup are now against me as if I never did
anything right for this country. But what do they know? So, I was wrong about
my faith in the entire Cameroonian people. The people I should truly protect
are our own—we who have been cheated and abused, we who have been insulted as
poor administrators, poor nation builders,
and extravagant people.
“Yes, my brothers, our receptiveness and our hospitality are being
insulted today. Our women are being made to weep today, through no fault of
theirs, simply because they understand the true act of nature and value the
demands of love. So, our purpose is simple. We shall do all it takes not to
relinquish power; we shall preside over the destiny of Cameroon until our
people have attained the financial and socio-political strength to wade into
any conspiracy against their pride and integrity; we are not going to cede
power until our region has attained a very high level of development with
prospects for greater advancements. We cannot achieve those objectives unless
we retain power for the next twenty to thirty years and get the best out of the
other regions. We can even choose the final option after.”
The president went on and on with his rant,
reciting his plan for his chosen people, especially those of the elite group.
He wandered aimlessly to his early days in school, on to the Sorbonne
University in France and then to the events of his post-student days. He also
talked about the time he served as a functionary before taking his narcissism a
step further by describing himself as an honest, duty-conscious and kind man
who had great visions for the country. He spoke of his attempts to bring
democracy to Cameroon, of the great ideas he put down in writings—both
published and unpublished, and of his earlier intentions to put Cameroon at the
forefront of Pan-Africanism.
“I introduced Cameroon to glasnost
and perestroika even before Gorbachev began the process in the Soviet Union.
But the fact is, I realized early enough that we risked losing power in an open
election to those Graffis, Anglophones, Muslims, and Littoral people. So, it is
of utmost importance that we sabotage their drive to seize power from us
through this crazy concept of one person, one vote. We have the unflinching
backing of the French and the subtle support of the other big powers to realize
our goals. They too do not want a resurgence of the Lake Nyos specter that
nobody wants to account for,” the president slurred, nodded and then sat down
again.
The next two hours were spent on other issues,
though related to the pressing crisis. These were the transfer of funds to
private accounts and the opening of an emergency account for the purchase of
arms, the training of a paramilitary force and the hiring of instructors. When
it came to the issue of those to be chosen as senior divisional officers,
divisional officers, governors, and operational commanders, Pablo-Nero asked
each man there to come up with five names. The men in the council gave their
blessings to Operation Clean Sweep after that, before finalizing the
proceedings with the choices of the twelve new members to join the Advisory
Council. The meeting ended in high anticipation.
Janvier Tchouteu is the author of Triple Agent, Double Cross
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