Penboy, Cameroon
In 2024
We sensed that it was never going to end
We could still see men
Some masked, others unmasked
Bruised faces, bullet proof vests
Fingers steadily holding onto triggers
Army boots marching south
Demented crowds running North
Our hearts racing like horses
To the fear of the inevitable
One could barely tell
Which was going to be his last breath His last run, or his last laugh
The 7-year-old war
Was still upon us like a plague
Eating our people like locusts
Not even Noah and his ark
Or Epassa Moto and its herd of elephants
Could save us from this one
Years gone by and still
The loud bangs of grenades
The deep hollows, and loud booms
of bombs still woke us
From morning sleep
With sinking voices, dying gazes
We prayed but heaven had its ears shut on us
The Takumbeng danced naked
Their saggy breasts thrusting downwards
As feet limped forward
Eyes dripping oceans
Peace plants waving in the sky
Voices wailing deep across valleys
Wails of loss, despair
But also, of hope and trust
A ritual that lasted days upon days
In 2024
We sensed that it was never going to end
Just yesterday, before the moon went to sleep
and the first Koukouroukou could be heard
We gathered ashes from Egbekaw
Ashes enough to build a pyramid
Ashes of things and of infant children
Of men and of women
Set ablaze in their own sleep
This thing called slumber, once a fashion
But now a luxury we can no longer afford
It’s hard to sleep at night
When all our fears are awake
Through our blood-stained books
We saw a fading future
Classrooms became worse than guillotines
A place known for mutilations and executions
Minds designed to memorize the alphabet
Now memorized war songs and anthems
Funeral hymns and dirges
Our dreams trashed in the dirt
We spent most of our time talking to the dead
Pouring libations on their graves
And wishing we didn’t start this war
As the war raged on and on
Darkness befell us over and over
Till even nature was on its knees
The trees bowed in surrender
Birds joined the widow’s cry
The wind-swept rotten bones
The earth laid barren
Herbs dismissed themselves in decay
The waters flowed crimson red
Laughter was banished from the land
And all that could be heard
Were the frogs’ croaks
In 2024
We sensed that it was never going to end
This war! We have been fighting
Fighting! Fighting! Fighting!
Lifting voices but now arms
Planting ideas but now bombs
Holding placards but now guns
We just wanted to touch the soft furs of freedom
To drink from the calabash of democracy
To have a piece of the national cola
But what was considered to be a fair fight
Has turned into a blood bath
And with the devil, some are taking blood pacts
After 2024,
We do not know anymore
But we sense that…
Maybe from these ashes, hope will arise
And a prince of peace will come racing to us
Maybe from these graves, flowers will grow
And children will experience the joy of childhood again
Maybe the tress will dance to the wind’s appeal
And our waters will be less red
And all that was broken
Will be fixed… Maybe!
PENBOY is a poet and spoken word artist based in Cameroon. PENBOY’s artistic practice was greatly inspired by the spark of the 2016 anglophone crisis in the English-speaking regions of Cameroon, which saw the destruction of human lives and property, the violation of basic human rights of indigenous people and the unjust treatment of minority and vulnerable groups, such as women and children. Through his work, he aims to bring awareness and be a voice against the injustice, violations, killings, and other forms of inhumane practices being perpetrated in his country. PENBOY is the winner of the international World Bank YouthActOnEDU Spoken Word Competition, and he has also won the Sisterspeak237 Digital Literacy Contest and the African Podcast and Voice Award, among many others.
