The Bohemian is confused, really confused, confused with tons and tons of confusion. This is hard to reconcile; what is easily noticeable in this country is that even the best intentioned of men become corrupted by the temptation of wealth and power. We also notice that the visible leaders that are paraded before us are mere puppets whose strings are pulled by their masters.
Men and people in high places find no crime too great for them to commit, no deception too base for them to practice, no disguise too difficult for them to assume. It is their studied aim to rescue wealth and power: these people who had impressed ignorant and fanatical minds with the idea that no wrong was committed by stealing and killing, but come to think of it, valuable people are those who value other people.
Consciously or unconsciously, whether we admit it or not, there is a concentrated barrage of propaganda from the news media to convince people to worship and glorify their leaders and to turn a deaf ear to the truth. But, whose truth are we talking about?
One thing is clear; a nation cannot be built simply by glorifying its big shots. Take a look at the country today, especially areas considered as English speaking Regions; what do you see? Lawlessness, dissipation and corruption are sweeping in on the national triangle like an overwhelming tide.
There is envy, evil surmising, hypocrisy, estrangement, emulation, betrayal of sacred trusts. Even the Courts of Justice are reportedly not spared of corruption. Jurists are perverted, bribed; deluded. The current events look like a film packed with sharp dialogue, a seemingly appealing cast and a vivid cameo of the more sinister face of the country.
Nowadays in the Northwest, there is a cauldron of speculation with the continuous deterioration of security. The exchange of gunfire between the defence forces and the suspected secessionists of the self proclaimed Federal Republic of Ambazonia. The perpetual killing of soldiers and civil servants and threats; all spiced with a one-day a week ghost town operation, observed by a Region where petit traders and small enterprises bear the brunt of the chaos.
So, I, the Bohemian of Abakwa, born of the last day of the month by the shores of the Atlantic in the land of the proud people, this day declare; there is panic in the towns and villages. We have a 16-hour day now, and a six-day week. We are adopting new ways, for the gubernatorial curfew requires for men and people to be indoors by nine in the evening. When did it all begin, when shall it end?
Who is making gains out of the mayhem to the point of wanting this condition to be permanent? We know conflicts and diseases are good for business; and the black market thrives, attracting all sorts of people in times of war, not only black people. The everyday phenomena of humiliation, rejection, lies and betrayal, point to the citizenry that ours is a life built on a foundation of shifting sand. We have dreams and we struggle to attain them; then we realize there were mirages in the desert. The struggle is the fun. The dream is just the motivating force. Nothing more! That’s the new wave.
By Winston Lebga