Welcome to Mbong’s Memoirs!
This is a space where I, Mbong, write freestyle and share my unique take on the world around us. From the latest news and current affairs to deeply personal stories of my travels, wedding anniversaries, and the friendships that shape my life, this blog captures it all. Whether I’m reflecting on global events or writing heartfelt letters to loved ones, “Mbong’s Memoirs” is a blend of thoughtful musings and life’s memorable moments.
Join me as I navigate life’s journeys, one story at a time.
Articles
In September, Frans Timmermans, the EU Commission Vice President and the man in charge of leading its work on the European Green Deal and the European Climate Law, delivered a revealing speech to a delegation of African leaders.
Behind the Democratic Republic of the Congo’s nationalist rhetoric lie big profits for global energy giants, and hurt for poor Congolese.
Forests are losing out to fossil fuels and foreign finance in the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC). On July 28, the country’s government auctioned 27 oil blocks and three gas blocks overlapping with some of the world’s most sensitive ecosystems, after signalling its intent in April.
My old friend Mike often said travelling is a privilege. As a Christian, I’ll have to say, it’s grace, one which I am grateful to have enjoyed.
My old friend Mike often said travelling is a privilege. As a Christian, I’ll have to say, it’s grace, one which I am grateful to have enjoyed.
In my twenties, I was obsessed with travelling the African continent, so I did. Then the last decade came along with a generous supply of opportunities to explore Europe and beyond.
2020 was a dark year. As if humanity wasn’t traumatised enough by the fatalities from an evil virus, millions had to watch on their small screens a scene from a real-life horror movie, the senseless and brutal murder of George Floyd.
A scene that ripped through the souls of the world and even more so, the souls of fellow blacks. African consciousness sparked to an all-time high.
Dad didn’t quite swear but most things French took exception.
Ironically, dad lived most of his adult life in Douala. Mind you, if the french policy of assimilation was effective in one city in Africa, that would be Douala. There, everyone lived to go to Paris, you had simply not arrived if you hadn’t been. Infact, the adults in my teenage world had found no better way to impress than to dish out the phrase ‘quand j’étais à Paris’ Like every other young person in Douala, this eventually got to me.
But within the confines of my father’s house, there was no better way to provoke dad’s rage, which I managed to ignite from time to time, with the line ‘Oh Paris, la ville de mes rêves!!!
Today is two years ‘jour pour jour’ as my French folks will put it, since our special day but memories are so fresh it feels like yesterday. I have to thank the Heavens for the absolutely beautiful and sunny day that it was and indeed for making it all possible. Thanking Mama Maria, St Scholastica, all host of Angels and saints for their prayers. It was a beautiful spring day. God take the Glory.
I woke up this morning feeling an intense sense of gratitude and thought I will quickly make a note of the things that excited me the most about the day.
As a young girl, I was overburdened by the issue of women and happiness, and the circumstances of my surroundings plagued with domestic violence, abuse and women’s absolute dependence on their men made the burden ever so heavy.
My name is Mbong, I am a wife, a mother, a career woman and a writer.
At 18, I made what I consider today as one of the boldest decisions I have made in the pursuit of happiness and harmony.
It was a freezing winter morning but it wasn’t the cold or the dimness of winter dawn that scared me. For the first time in my twelve years as an immigrant in South Africa, I was in a mini van taxi, a Kombi as it’s called here and with no other passengers in sight, I froze in fear. Alone and barely able to see the drivers face, I wondered how I got in the minivan taxi in the first place. The driver’s dark hoody covered his ears, his head and what I imagined would be an unfriendly face. In my fear and unease, I tried to make a conversation, to lighten the air. “Unjani,” I said, but there was no response.
So it seems everyone else gets it. My French friends drive french cars, My Japanese colleagues Japanese cars. Trust me, my German acquaintances do the same and my Jewish and Chinese friends take the concept of identity and self love to a whole new level. Granted, there are no African cars in the market for you to buy even if you wanted to do so, and that is true for many other things we consume. But do we love and support our own where it is possible?
In my previous blog on racism – ‘Racism Cannot Survive Justice and Humanity’ – I made the point that most blacks don’t fundamentally care about the ideology that one race might consider itself as superior to another – which is essentially the starting point for racism. This is because more and more black people feel an enact sense of accomplishment …
Lebo was my first black South African friend. She was bold, confident, fearless and intelligent. Our friendship was brief, it only lasted through our post graduate honours year, but it was intense, it was unique, it was an eye opener.
Lebo was born in South Africa, along with its history and racially tense past. Unlike Lebo, I was born in Cameroon, what I described in my previous write up – ‘Who Gives a Rat’s Ass About Racism’ – as my perfect black world. Everything I knew, everything I had become was shaped by a black person.
For a long time I thought I didn’t care about racism but the truth is, I had very little reason to. I was born in Cameroon. At the age of four, I went to primary school and for seven years all my teachers were blacks. At eleven I went to secondary school and for another seven years all my teachers were blacks. Then university, and for four years, I only had black lecturers. Then I had my first job, all my colleagues were blacks, my Editor- in- Chief was black too. Even though he thought I was one stubborn addition to the newsroom, he valued my insights and I valued his, our disagreements were never dealt with on racial lines. Everything in my world was black. Everything I had become was made possible by a black.
Let’s cut to the chase with a quick definition of racism. Whichever dictionary you choose to use, racism will generally be defined by as many words, superiority, antagonism, prejudice, resentment, of one race over another.
Let’s help a brother. What will you use as a more empowering hashtag to counter the racial injustices and abuses against black lives in the USA?
As an African, though miles away, it has been hard to watch the #blackLivesMatter movement take to the streets of the USA over and over again to protest police brutality against my race. Especially in a country that was built on the sweat and blood of black people. While in minority, the contribution of African Americans in building the USA, isn’t up for debate.
Let’s help a brother. What will you use as a more empowering hashtag to counter the racial injustices and abuses against black lives in the USA?
As an African, though miles away, it has been hard to watch the #blackLivesMatter movement take to the streets of the USA over and over again to protest police brutality against my race. Especially in a country that was built on the sweat and blood of black people. While in minority, the contribution of African Americans in building the USA, isn’t up for debate.