My "Amba" Experience

My "Amba" Experience

*For security reasons, some names in this report have been changed or withheld.

Some Meta sons and daughters abroad decided to mobilise financial resources and send home for goods of basic necessity to be bought and handed to Internally Displaced Persons (I.D.PS) in the community. Meta is the name of the indigenes of Mbengwi Sub Division in Momo Division, North West Region of Cameroon. Their language (mother tongue) is also known as Meta. So the sons and daughters abroad contacted a guy in Bamenda town on how the program can be materialised. The said guy, a son of the soil contacted me since I'm home based and better know realities on the ground. I proposed to him that I know of a community in the outskirts of Mbengwi where I.D.Ps are concentrated . They escaped from their locality after clashes with the Mbororos, resulting to infliction of wounds, burning of houses and property. So the Metas in the place escaped and sought for refuge in neighbouring villages. "Community X" is one of the communities hosting these I.D.Ps. I got to know of this through  someone there that's housing many of them.

So I said to myself, let me drag this support to the real I.D.Ps. At least those in Mbengwi town have benefitted a couple of times especially from government assistance programs and other humanitarian aid agencies though often with controversies such as some of the beneficiaries not being real I.D.Ps while some of the officials in charge of sharing play foul with the items. The guy from Bamenda town bought the idea, left and came to meet me in Mbengwi with the money which we used to buy the things from the Mbon market so that the money circulates in our economy. The host of the displaced persons in "Community X" had presented us with statistics such as number of males, females, age groups etc. So we bought the items; bags of rice, salt, packets of maggi, vegetable oil, soap, toilet tissues and sanitary pads. This was on Saturday December 22nd 2018.

The next day, Sunday December 23rd, we hired a car from Mbengwi town and engaged the journey with the items; myself, the guy from Bamenda and the driver. I never knew I was supposed to have notified the separatist fighters (Amba Boys) there that we are coming and state our mission. I never even knew the guys will be present there. I never foresaw any obstacles to the genuine mission. My thought was far from what awaited us.

Upon entry into "Community X", behold there before us stood three armed guys doing control. They stopped us, we descended and introduced ourselves and mission. They asked us to drive to the community square where they followed and met us and started with interrogations. The guy who came from town looked healthy like a civil servant and so they questioned him more, took his identity card and checked. As the interrogations were going on, their commander called his other boys  on phone and within no time we had over 15 guys before us, charging. " Commandang make we finish them" one of them said as if he was thirsty for our blood. We were sat in dust but for the driver whom they spared because he was elderly and was simply hired to render transportation service, our shoes and socks removed and our under legs beaten with a cutlass. They said "Na da gov't things them, that atanga nji e things dem una dong carryam for kam sheram" We kept explaining our innocence to no avail. Two big boys didn't only cry, they whaled.

By now, the population had gathered and was observing the scenario but no way to intervene especially as they knew me, that if I am involved, then it can't be a shady deal, it must be for the good of the population because I've been carrying out similar voluntary community service before to assist humanity. Some of the "Amba Boys" rode in from unknown areas to come and deal with their prey after being told of a big catch. They put our hands on a plank and threatened to cut but one of their leaders instructed that they shouldn't. That we are all tribesmen and they know me in particular and what I do in life. In journalism, people you can't even identify them identify you. By now they had seized my recorder, phone, camera, and other electronic gadgets of my colleague (palm top, digital camera) removed the batteries and nearly burnt them. Again they were stopped by one of their leaders who decided to carry out proper investigations into the matter. We went with these gadgets because we needed to report to the donors with picture and video evidences on how we executed the donation. There and then we were forced to call the guys in the U.S to confirm that they sent us on the mission. Luckily we were with receipts to show that we actually bought the items from Mbengwi. We also had the international cash withdrawal receipt. The name of the sender of the money on the receipt was a guy from a neighbouring community to "Community X" who flew out of the country a couple of years back in search of greener pastures.

Two of the "Amba Boys" took me on a bike to the guy's compound  for investigations after they found out that the money sender is identifiable. We met the guy's brother and sister. They were interrogated. "Una broda no get any links to government?" they asked and the reply was "No, e nova ever get anything for do with government." They took his phone number from the sister. By now, though still in captivity, tempers had calmed down. Upon return to the drama scene in "Community X", they compared the two numbers (the one we had  called and the one the sister gave) and saw that they were the same. They  communicated among themselves, presented their findings which showed that we were not traitors.  Upon return, I met my colleague drinking locally fabricated corn beer which had been offered to him to quench his thirst. He offered me a cup and I gulped the liquid down my dry throat. By now our heartbeats had dropped back to normal and we felt relieved. We were under thorough investigation which I very much preferred than the beatings and harshness.

Their worry was that we didn't notify them nor inhabitants of "Community X" before coming, thus undermining them. We actually never knew this was how things now function in the suburbs. For that reason, because ignorance is no excuse, they charged us a figure to pay for our freedom or we shall be carried to their camp for imprisonment. Hearing this, I ran out of breadth. Thousands of ideas ran through my mind within the split of a second. Again we pleaded and pleaded that we can't afford such a figure and finally came to a consensus. 

Having sorted out our differences, they then asked us to load back the items into the car and go finish our mission. Just at the time we were trying to move, another commander that had learnt of the incidence rode in fast and furious with one of his own boys. He announced his arrival by firing a shot in the air. I just told myself, finally I'm gone. I knew hell has broken loose on us. Before it was raining, now it's going to pour. These ones nearly took life out of us. They offloaded the items again, scattered them with strong kicks, made noise like a roaring lion as the population watched helplessly. "Una be di kam una no b no say we dey?" they asked. "Usai di things dem komort? Una must tell we the truth if not una go chop Christmas with we for camp" they said. Talking directly in my face, one told me "I know you fine. You be journalist. If you no know me, I be (name withheld)." This he said while hitting his chest as I felt his spittle drops on my face. The name he gave wasn't his real name but his fighter name. I discovered that almost  all the fighters have adopted nick names by which they are called and some of these names are really scary. Again we were sat in dust by the roadside. It was a Tad Market day, the last before Christmas, so the road was very busy. Many passersby passed and saw the humiliation we were undergoing but for their own safety, no one dared coughed.

If I could collapse I would've done so but as a man, I kept mustering courage and maintaining my statements. We were told one of the boys investigates in the spiritual realm not the ordinary. I told myself let them do whatever investigations they want, ordinarily, metaphysically, whichever way but the truth will remain that we came with good intentions. They vibrated and vibrated, spoke right in my face and I could scent how drugged they were. This new set didn't even want to listen to the set that had properly investigated us. One of the intruders filmed us with his android phone. Up till now I can't still understand why he filmed us and where the video has gone to.  Our early captors kept telling us to remain calm as they too observed the unfolding blog buster amazingly. We now looked up to them to safe us from this impending danger, expecting them to talk to their colleagues.

Finally tempers calmed down and they consulted. The two comers returned and again we were asked to gather the items and  carry to their intended destination but will wait till further instructions before offloading the car.  We went and sat there for hours, no progress. We even had a nap out of dizziness. We were offered bread and canned drinks by the host of the I.D.Ps but where was the appetite?

During this time, one of the boys, the one that stopped colleagues from neither burning our gadgets nor harming us came and sat with us. He ate and drank what was offered to him. We chatted amicably for long. He explained to us how he forwent his freedom for the struggle. That he's not into it for money because he never lacked before joining. That his blood brother with whom they were together in the camp was recently killed by the military in Mbengwi but that didn't deter him. That we should not feel so bad for what some of his colleagues have done to us because if he never even came in on time to intervene, they would've done worst things before regretting later. This guy made us to understand that he knows God. He said they've given up their lives for the struggle. That they know they are living corpses that's why they don't take chances with anything that jeopardises their safety because nobody freely accepts death.  This fighter told us he understands some guys have joined them who were former thieves, criminals and so saw the struggle as an opportunity to make use of. As he spoke I was dump founded. He said instead of cursing them for their wrongs, we should rather be praying for them for their rights. That the things they've been able to change in their communities are enormous. His concern is the truth. That once he investigates a matter and it's clear, he let's the person goes but if guilty, he punishes. That he himself is uncomfortable when young boys go around beating their elders, disrespecting them in the name of being "Amba Boys". To him, if he does good work and the population appreciates, he will live long but if he goes wayward and rather inflicts more pains on the  commoners and they cry and speak negatively about his actions, then it'll be obvious he'll quickly get killed at the war front.

We kept listening attentively as he narrated his story. I don't still know why he chose to tell us all of these. Was it out of regret? Was he trying to sell a positive image of the " Amba Boys" after we were received with human rights abuses? Was it, was it, was it...? He said they don't know anything like brother, sister, mother, father, tribes mate etc. That if you falter, they deal with you irrespective of who you are. As he spoke, I didn't ask him anything. I was just carried away. He had charms on him but looked neat and clean. The others had red eyes, bushy hair, cranky bodies and black lips. He told us they go to missions and fight elsewhere like in Mamfe, Batibo, Belo etc reason why one of their commanders at the time of the incidence was a fighter from Bafut that came visiting. I realised this during our interrogations because we were asked to address him in broken English not the vernacular as we did with the others because he doesn't understand Meta.

 At last the commander of the first group that interrogated us came and met us and said "Una offload the things them go una back. Different man no go kam for ma territory kam di make noise soteh shoot gun for air. Na me I be commander for here. No be so ma commander teach me work." From this I understood the setup is bigger than meets the eyes. They have their salutation formats. There are commanders under commanders. I got to discover that they've carved out communities and put under their control and that the chain elongates right to abroad. This because they questioned why the senders of the aid didn't pass through their leaders abroad who would've communicated them on Ground Zero as they call it about the mission.

At the end of the day, they bid us goodbye and sent one of them to come escort us out of "Community X" so that  nobody disturbs us again. We drove back safely to Mbengwi town. All our electronic gadgets had been handed back to us. We sustained no wound but for the pains of the beatings with cutlass of our under legs.

This is the testimony I shall leave to tell. On this Sunday Dec 23rd 2018, I met the good, the bad the ugly. I went, I saw and came back to tell the story. I came face to face with death but since I went to equity with clean hands, not a hair on my head was broken. I had the suffering people at heart. I went through all this unforseen risk because I wanted to offer them a helping hand. I saw a rough terrain. The guys mean business. The way they investigated us, if our mission was dirty, we would've been finished by now. They are really good guys among them who understand their purpose of becoming fighters as well as bad guys who are in for the fame and selfish interests.

As we drove back to Mbengwi, I felt like Ghanian undercover reporter, Anas Aremeyaw. I kept reflecting of all the bitter experiences I've had in the practice of journalism. I've been into the hands of legal minds, uniform officers and now separatist fighters. Through the experiences I've learnt lessons and gained more exposure to certain things I would never had known if I never went through thick and thin. I have never regretted any. A day before this bitter experience, I covered a meeting convened by the S.D.O of Momo Division with his collaborators to chart ways on how to disarm, demobilise and reintegrate these fighters into the society. I just told myself the picture on the field is bigger than what hierarchy thinks. How did we even get here? What went wrong? What we used to pay money to watch in video clubs for entertainment is now happening before our naked eyes. It is said pride goes before a fall. I'll suggest the Cameroon  government keeps aside pride and be humble enough to call for talks with those who call the shots in the current Anglophone struggle without which the country may be herding to the dungeons. The cry has been same at the national and international level, free all arrested, ceasefire, dialogue.