allAfrica.com: Cameroon: Tributes to Bate Besong - the Day the Sun Set in the Morning (Page 1 of 2)

There is a Bafut joke about an angry man who went to the village and shouted - Ngwa! And how 800 young men answered the call in unison. My bosom friend, departed Dr. Hilarious Ngwa Ambe, answered to that call when an angry god called that name last year, March 8.

When the people living in Buea went to bed on March 7, they had no way of knowing that during the pre-dawn minutes of the following morning they would be jarred from their peaceful slumber by shock waves that Bate Besong and his 'clone' Hilarious Ngwa Ambe, Ngwangwa Kwasen and their driver, Awoh, had died in a car crash.

The earth had changed places with heaven. Enough time has not yet gone by to enable us forget about March 8 - Bate Besong, Ambe, Kwasen and Awoh. As they say, a man cannot outrun his fate. Bate Besong might have left a chilly vacuum, but his feet have left indelible imprints on the sands of playwriting and poetry.

And it was not playwriting or 'poetrying' for their own sake. Cameroon's reigns of terror forced scholars like Bate Besong to take up writing in order to expectorate the bitter pains of being second class citizens in the land of their ancestors; where oppressive leaders variably used state of emergency laws, anti-terrorism acts and censorship acts coupled with official pauperisation to justify the suppression and marginalisation of Cameroon Anglophones. Indeed, the case of the Cameroon Anglophone is particularly poignant.

When Cameroon Anglophones got tired of laughing at their oppression and realised that laughing was not going to set them free, it was time to pick up the pen, albeit surreptitiously, subtly. But Bate Besong verbalised loudly on the page with an envenomed quill.

While he lived, Bate Besong never did write to please anybody. His coarse and vigorous skits incensed, jolted and embarrassed their subjects. While some Cameroon Anglophones were ambitious to succeed as writers by trying to please the Head of State rather than the people, Bate Besong was never concerned with patches of purple lyrics; they were secondary.

It was the message that concerned him most. Bate Besong was a useful arsenal of verbal ammunition against tyrants.

"Malevolent Phantom"

Somewhat troubled by an oddity of speech but a master of frothy articles with nothing light-hearted, Bate Besong could be rated as the malevolent phantom the University of Buea Ivory Tower. While he was not blowing the whistle or clanging the bells, a little envy was not alien to his nature; he used to experience venomous emotions which he would vomit on the page.

He amused as well intimidated his "enemies" with all his knowledge in a gorgeously funny and vulgar way. In fact, Bate Besong easily overcame one of the difficulties that critics have to cope with through their lives - what to do about the persons who happen to employ them.

Speedy Gonzales

It was hardly revolutionary to advise Bate Besong not to go fast any more than it is controversial to urge a diabetic not to binge on sugar. He chose his speed and set his pace. Once he got started, there was no stopping him. One thing you won't find in this article is an explanation of a specific way to die. Because I don't believe that there is one.

Just as every death is unique, so is everybody who dies. Nevertheless, everybody in this business of dying spends a life time trying to find a way not to die; changing it over the years as others die. But generally, what works for one person won't necessarily work for another.

When a person dies, it is like, well, it shows or proves what a jerk the fellow was; just to die like that. Wrong. It is nothing of the sort. Few people die with distinction and pay a decent price for the privilege.

God's Case No Appeal

Ambe found his way into my life through the Odin-powered warrior, Bate Besong aka BB (may their souls rest in peace). Ambe had made hundreds of Photostat copies of my review of BB's Change Waka and His Sawa Boy, and distributed to his students at the University of Yaounde I. Then one sunny morning we met at the GCE Board Junction, Buea.

"Opio! Opio!" Ambe shouted at the top of his voice after Bate Besong had pointed me out to him. That voice would ingrain itself in my memory and would become a loving signature tune.

That morning I had turned on my heels, scanned the Junction, and seen a 'few' man waving his hand wildly in the air as he crossed the street, mindless of the snarling traffic. With a handshake shortly afterwards over a bottle of beer, Ambe and I would foster a twin-like friendship - we would drink together, laugh together, shout together and sing together: "We want to see Mandela walking hand in hand with Winnie... in Soweeeeto, tomoooorrow!" We would talk theatre, drama, poetry, women and the like while doing justice to the congenial bottle.

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