I miss many things in my village, Mbindia most of all the little isolated hills and the streams that used to flow fast but no longer do so because of rapid deforestation. I miss fishing crabs, tadpoles, hunting with dogs, working in my father's coffee farm, helping my mother in planting groundnuts, corn and coco yams. I miss carrying coco yams on my head to distant markets. I miss most of all my defunct school that was closed up in the mid 1990's as a result of economic crisis in Cameroon. All of these were my childhood life.
By all indicators, it seems as if things are not the same in my village as they used to be when I grew up as a kid. The people appear desperate, their houses and environment display great shortage of economic means of living. There is a growing priority over money than morals, there are less and less young men. Most have departed to the towns in search of jobs which they hardly find. Many farms are not taken care of as they used to be in the 1980s. The boom that was around the school is conspicuously absent. No more dormitories for Class 7 boys and girls, no more teachers' quarters. Landslide and rainy season floods have chopped part of the beautiful football and handball fields. Most houses have collapsed, most men who used to make the village boom have died or been withered by age or lack of means to boast (money). Everything seem to be quiet.
The village Catholic Church collapsed and was rebuilt some years after in a nearby plot. It still appears to be in an imposing position on a small isolated and conspicuous hill it had occupied ever since I could take note of it. It had been a booming church as I can remember when I was a kid. By the mid 1990s, it had almost lost its significance to the church goers. Many are now interested in making a living by working even on Sundays they had greatly respected. It is common to see those who had greatly respected the church and imbibe its values to pass by not fearing to be unnoticed by the worshippers singing praise songs and praying. At times the catechist would not turn up. When I remember the grip this church had on my upbringing I begin to wonder why it has lost its significance to the villagers nowadays. It was the centre of all school activities and even roll calls made on Sundays to determine who were absent from the Church.
Whatever my disappointment, I still very much enjoy its scenery especially the downward looking mountain which imposes itself at the centre of the village just about a kilometre from the chief's residence. I still can see some pockets of reserved forest. I still can see the deep valleys. But I regret this about my village: the division that has been fueled and maintained by the outside educated elites since from the mid 1990s. Some elites have taken upon themselves to thwart the history and those the unity of the village by claiming that the village existed in two parts. This has torn families apart. I feel deeply much more because of those spearheading the division are from my own family. Some of them were sponsored by the village they now are opposing its (village existence). It is a pathetic situation which has benefited some other elite to mock us. I feel ashamed for those pronouncing the secessionist move. This has led to much hatred. It is common not to see people from the secessionist quarter coming to condole with those they are opposing. The pain is much to cry about because it is very difficult to separate from relations and family members you grew up with. The town elite comes, creates division and then leave. They are not in the village to bear the stench of the strained relations they have created.
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