The Disillusioned African

PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION

viii PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION Some time ago, in 1993, a forum of anglophone Cameroon writers held under the auspices of the Goethe Institute of Yaounde produced, among many excellent articles, a reflection by Tatah H. Mbuy on “The Moral Responsibility of the Writer in a Pluralist Society”. Every such writer, says Mbuy, is to see himself as a spokesman for his society. He must seek the truth, propagate it and defend it. He is to be the prophet and soothsayer of his society, pricking the consciences of all and trying to correct faults where these are to be found. Elsewhere in this forum other participants described present-day anglophone writing as concerned with “deconstructing victimhood”, through a discourse revolving around shared values or reference points. This also entails the need to move on, into reconstruction of heritage that Cameroonians, and indeed all Africans, are clinging to precariously, in the pluralist era of Africa’s democratisation. It is in the new, post-election scene, which Nyamnjoh has described elsewhere as “a decline to one-dimensionalism”, that “The Disillusioned African” takes his bearings on the world. Its framework is the ongoing politico-economic process of the 1990’s with its own peculiarly African ‘fin-de-siècle’ flavour, seen from the distancing haven of an ix imaginary trip to Britain. The vehicle of communication is the letters of the philosopher-hero to his friend Moungo back home. The air-flight and touch-down, the first sight of London, the brief stay in academic Manchester, and an interlude in hospital, laid low with malaria, provide the author with a variety of jumping-off points from which to view both British society and his own. Part One, situated in the “Mandela Hotel”, evokes reflections on leadership, class systems and the universal greed for wealth - or what may be called “officially-sponsored theft”. Part Two provides much paradoxical comment on the foibles and attitude of what Nyamnjoh refers to throughout as the “Queendom” of Britain. Part Three chronicles life as the only student of a university department of philosophy, bringing in its train wry observations on the ambiguous cross-cultural influences that followed in the wake of colonisation and including an appalling, scarcely credible specimen of official memoranda from the Belgian government to the departing missionaries to what is now Zaire. From his hospital ward in Part Four, the narrator muses on the demise of Communist autocracies and their effects on the world balance of power: “Today, people have got to find new enemies, which isn’t easy... The truth is, people have simply got to have something they fear, for x people are united more by FEAR than by LOVE.” After drawing a parallel between leftist dictatorships such as that of the Ceasuscus, and the present modes of government of various African leaders, the book takes a helter-skelter, tumble-down freefall to the present day, to the chicanery of the 1992 Cameroon elections, and the hero’s flight from the central critical arena into his native Grasslands village. The book was written before the accession to power of Nelson Mandela, the Rwandan genocide or the depredations of devaluation in the economies of francophone Africa could provide further examples of both the best and the worst scenarios for a problematic future. Satirical writing has an honourable history among anglophone Cameroonians, whose use of language as a political instrument is as powerful as any polemicist in nineteenth century England. Readers of Nyamnjoh’s previous work have grown to expect, beneath the racy, humorous style, an incisive and merciless analysis of social ills. Here is indeed a seeker after truth. However, where the previous book, Mind Searching, adopted the light-hearted and hilarious device of an extended daydream taking place in church, as a vehicle for his observation of the Yaounde bureaucratic and religious scene, this work seems to fish in murkier waters altogether. By xi the medium of an apparent, tongue-in-cheek naivety, by repeated digressions and diverse literary and historical parallels, Nyamnjoh’s subversive intent remains constant: to strip pretensions, to explode phoneyness and humbug, to expose the sores that underlie the veneer of Africa modernity, particularly among the elites and their sad counterparts, the underclasses. The vigour of expression reveals the bitterness that underpins the author’s surface urbanity: The African elite today loves kingly life so much that, at independence, what mattered to him most was political...