The Moment of Truth

Chapter 1

Life is like an animated version of a network of interrelated electronic devices – called nodes - connected by several transmission media to send information to one another across multiple dimensions, just as we interact with people according to the kind of connection we have with them; which is why there exist formal and informal communication.
     Just as one node’s response to another is reflected by the nature of the information passed on to it by the sender node, so too our perception of the world and ourselves is greatly influenced by the way we believe people think about us and interact with us.
     However, our behaviour is influenced most strongly by the people closest to us; that is, our family members, friends and loved ones. This explains why our lifestyles are oftentimes mirror reflections of the nature of our families.
***
The Bakundu people are a peaceful, traditionally-conscious people who live in Meme Division in the South West Region of Cameroon.
     Over the centuries, their traditional mechanisms have been negatively affected by the imposition of colonial rule from the late 1800’s to the late 1900’s: first by the Germans, then by the British. This has been through the monetization of their trade-by-barter economy – with the introduction of the German Mark, then the British Pound - the shift of loyalties from the traditional practices to the colonial masters.
     Nonetheless, the Bakundu people have equally benefitted from the Europeans through the introduction of modernism in their locality, the enforcement of formal education and the creation of cocoa, coffee and rubber plantations which constitute their major cash crops.
     In spite of the imposition of colonial rule on the Bakunduland, the people’s traditional values, which are deeply rooted in respect for the elders, the veneration of the ancestors and the fear of a Supreme God, have stood the test of time.
***
The atmosphere in the room was heavy with grief as the members of the Bekindaka family sat in silence, feeling the impact of the tragedy that had just befallen them like a tornado.
     They were seated in the living room of the late Mr. Bekindaka Festus’ large, single-storey, concrete house painted green all round outside and pink inside. It was a family house in which the late man had lived with his younger brother and their families. It was one of the few concrete buildings in the village of DipendaBakundu in Konye subdivision, Meme division in the South West Region of Cameroon.
     Mrs. Bekindaka Felicia had just been laid to rest - ten years after her husband’s demise - after struggling with gastritis. And now - five days after concluding the funeral rites as stipulated by the customs of the land - the Bekindaka family converged for a family meeting to decide the way forward. It was early October in the year of our Lord 2017.
  Seated on an armchair with a commanding view of the entire room was Mr. Bekindaka Aloysius (the kid brother of the late Mr. Bekindaka Festus) who was chairing the meeting as the eldest living member of the family.
He was a tall, fair man in his early forties with strong muscles resulting from cultivating his cocoa plantation in the fringes of the village. He had a gentle and calm countenance, yet he was a strict man who adhered to rigorous disciplinary measures and made sure everyone around him did same.
He shifted uneasily in his seat and regarded with pity the three sons of his deceased sister-in-law seated on the green couch to his right. Even amidst the grief that mercilessly gripped them all in its long, cold, bony fingers, his heart warmed with joy to see that his late brother had fathered such three able young men, though he had not had any daughter.
     Seated to the extreme right of the couch was Bekindaka Kelvin, the eldest son of his late father, an exact replica of him. At age thirty, he was a fine young man of average height, huge, dark and graceful with deep-set, dark eyes that gave him the airs of a very reflective man. He was a warm and caring young man who always felt for others, and his smiles always had a healing power that alleviated the pains and worries of the people around him.
     Whoever looked at him saw his late father; and as his uncle regarded him now, he saw his own brother incarnate in his son, and that made the uncle’s heart weigh even heavier with grief as he silently blamed his late brother for leaving his family so early to his wife who had just now passed on to the afterlife.
     Kelvin’s graceful features were now contorted with grief and heartache which gnawed at him mercilessly as he sat in silence, lost in his own agonizing thoughts.
     To the far end of the couch sat the second son, Bekindaka Linus who took from his mother. In his mid-twenties, he was a little taller than Kelvin, and had their mother’s brown complexion and his tender hands were just like hers; no doubt he was her favourite son. Her death had, therefore, taken a nasty toll on him; he had lost a lot of weight since when he learnt of her demise. He now looked pale and sickly as he stared blankly at the mahogany coffee table in the center of the room. The table was covered by a green tablecloth on which stood a flower vase containing roses and the remote controls of the TV and DVD player which were set in a large cupboard on the opposite end of the room from where his uncle sat.
     Kelvin and Linus were holders of a degree in building and construction from Government Technical High School Kumba, and lived in Douala where they earned a living as builders.
Seated between his brothers was BekindakaSamuel Ekoko, the last of his late parents’ sons. He was a tall, slim, dark and handsome young man in his early twenties who had his father’s stern countenance on the beautiful face he took from his mother. He was always calm and hardly spoke, which earned him so much respect from his family, friends and acquaintances.
      Consumed by an inexplicable surge of grief, he raised his head and his gaze met the photos and calendars hanging on the opposite wall of the massive living room, particularly a photo of his mother smiling amicably, dressed in a green Women’s Day gown and seated on a swivel chair in a photographer’s studio with a background of a lush garden behind her. Samuel blinked back tears as he was plagued by memories of all the times she had offered him that smile which dried his tears whenever his late father beat him or whenever he was sad.
     Samuel had just completed his freshman year as a Management student in the University of Buea, where he obtained a First Class result that year despite the various disruptions that had made the academic year especially difficult for the students. That fact in itself accorded him even more respect.    
     Seated on the two armchairs across the coffee table from the couch were Bekindaka Quinta (Kelvin’s wife) and Bekindaka Claudine (Linus’ fiancée), their eyes swollen from profuse crying and lack of sleep. They were both in their twenties, slightly fat, fair and beautiful. They were Bakundu girls from the neighbouring villages.
Both ladies knew the late woman so well, and she had treated them as her own daughters, sharing with them her experiences in the marital life as well as the secret of her endurance in singlehandedly raising her three sons after her husband’s demise. This had been so as to prepare them for marriage with her two eldest sons. Whenever Kelvin and Linus came home for holidays or for any other occasion, they always brought with them the ladies who were close companions of the widow - sharing her joys, her hopes and her fears.
     Finally, occupying a wooden stool positioned between Quinta and Claudine was Mrs. BekindakaDelphine, Mr. Bekindaka Aloysius’ wife – a fat, fair woman with a double chin and an anxious countenance. She was a trader; she had a shed at the market where she sold items like rice, beans, garri, groundnuts and more.
     They had all shaved their heads bald, and were clad in black attire since they were still mourning. Each one of them was lost in a bottomless pit of troubling thoughts, the depths and agonies of which only the he or she knew, and no one had spoken since they had converged about thirty minutes earlier.
     The floor was covered with an old, thick, brown carpet that was torn in several places; and the furniture in the room was old and in need of replacement.
     As the uncle gazed past the curtained front window, he saw the dark clouds in the sky conspiring to spoil the fun of the children playing outside. Then, for a split second, he wished his mind and heart were as free as the children’s – free of all the pain and heartache brought by the tragedies of human life.
     One of the children was Kelvin’s four-year-old daughter, Bekindaka Lucy who had just begun her nursery education in a school in Douala and was already picking up a good mastery of the French language. The other two were Kelvin’s cousins: Dorothy, aged five; and her elder brother Cyprian, aged ten. Their eldest sisterMirabel was in Nigeria pursuing a Master’s degree in Biochemistry.
     Now, the late Mrs. Bekindaka Felicia had been suffering from gastritis for the past seven years during which she was taken to several renowned hospitals in Kumba, Buea, Mamfe and Douala. After each consultation, wherein she would be prescribed several expensive drugs, the disease would subside, only to resurge months later with an even greater intensity.
     She would then be taken to yet another hospital only for the cycle to start all over again. The pastors, elders, deacons and other authorities of the Full Gospel Mission church in Dipenda Bakundu, where the family worshipped, frequently visited her at home and prayed with her; yet nothing seemed to be working as her predicament only got worse.
     The villagers were whispering to one another on the roads, in the farms, in their houses and in the marketplaces that she was struck by a witch or other sorcerer. Some of them wondered why her family would not take her to consult with a native doctor and find the root cause of the problem in no time rather than wasting their money on the white man’s medicine and waiting on God to heal her.
     Some members of the Dipenda Widows Association, to which she was a committed member, even suggested that she consults with a well-known native doctor they knew of who could relieve her of her sickness. She rejected the idea, saying she depended solely on God who she believed would heal her when He deemed the right time.
     She was a staunch Christian, and her sons followed her example well. Not even sickness could keep her from going for Sunday service unless she was unable to move from the bed.
     It was around mid-September while she was receiving treatment at the Kumba District Hospital, where she had been admitted four times since her initial diagnosis, that she finally given up the ghost. Her brother-in-law Aloysius and his wife had come to see her the previous day with greetings from Samuel who just came home from school for the summer vacation.
     When they got back to the village, they told Samuel the news of his mother’s death as subtly as they could. He was torn emotionally when he heard it, crying like never before, and lost appetite and sleep. His aunt went to great lengths to console him and even had to sing him a sweet song in the vernacular which she sang for her own children just to get him to sleep.
His uncle called his brothers whowere in Douala by then and delivered the news, adding that the body was already in the morgue; and that they had to get to the village as soon as possible to start preparations for the funeral.
Kelvin and Linus gotto the village the following day with their families. They all were so shocked by their mother’s death, and the ladies with them cried all the day from Douala to DipendaBakundu.
      The news spread to the entire village and environs like wild fire, and everyone who heard it bowed the head and wept for the woman for she had been a paragon of Christian endurance and faithfulness.
     Kelvin, Linus and their uncle went to the chief’s palace with the customary items of palm wine, some kola nuts and a goat to pay homage and start making plans for the funeral. It was then agreed that the body would be buried in the family compound.
     The Rev. Mokube Jude – a short, stocky man with a protruding belly with a tendency to sweat every now and then - led the delegation of the Christians of the Full Gospel Mission Church Dipenda to the house of the bereaved on the eve of the burial.
     Before the service, the pastor and his delegation had a brief meeting with the bereaved family members in the large living room to express their condolences.
     ‘We know Sister Felicia now rests in the Lord’s bosom,’ the pastor said, ‘after living an exemplary life here on earth. I urge you all - in the love of our Lord Jesus Christ - not to give in to despair, but to take heart and rejoice in the hope that she has gone on ahead of you to intercede for you before the throne of grace.
     ‘You must hold on even more steadfastly to your faith at such a crucial moment when the evil one is looking for a means to set your hearts against God. For surely you know that one day we must all die before being reunited on the last day in God’s kingdom which He has promised to all His faithful children. So take heart, children of God, and let the Lord alone be your strength.’
Then they prayed.
A service was conducted in the large compound that evening with the broad verandah of the house being used as the sanctuary while several plastic chairs arranged on the lawn of the compound served as the pew, with a photograph of the deceased hanging conspicuously on one of the pillars supporting the front porch.
     There was such a massive turnover of mourners that it surprised the bereaved family; it was then that they realized just how much the deceased meant to them. They prayed all night for the peaceful repose of her soul.
     The pastor equally used the opportunity to call on everyone present to turn from their evil ways and live a righteous life, for they never know when their own day would come when they would have to leave this world and give an account of their lives to God.
     The service ended at two o’clock that night when the mourners were dismissed after being reminded to be present for the burial proper scheduled for ten o’clock in the morning. Samuel’s uncle then thanked the pastor on behalf of the family for the church’s support both when the deceased was alive and even after her demise.
Before the break of dawn, Kelvin, Linus and their uncle went to the Kumba District Hospital with a rented hearse to get the corpse and bring it to the village for the burial.
     When the hearse made it through the wrought iron gate into the fenced compound that afternoon, the mourners burst into fresh tears. They were seated on plastic chairs under canopies allotted to various groups such as the Dipenda Widows Association, the representatives from the chief’s cabinet, the various age groups, visitors from far and the church.
     Samuel’s aunt and sisters-in-law sat on the floor in the living room wailing with bloodshot eyes as some other women consoled them. Samuel himself was crying so hard that the people consoling him feared he might fall sick after the funeral.
     The funeral service was then conducted, during which time Samuel’s uncle read out to everyone the biography of the deceased.
‘Bekindaka Felicia,’ he began, ‘was born to late Mr. Ngwe Mathias and Late Mrs. Ngwe Judith in the year 1972 in Wone village. She started her primary education at the Government primary school in the year 1977 and obtained her First School Leaving Certificate in the year 1985.
     ‘She was forbidden by her father to attend secondary school, so she stayed at home and assisted her mother with the domestic chores and farm work. Then, at the age of thirteen, she was betrothed to the late Mr. Bekindaka Festus who was then the Head Teacher of the Government primary school Dipenda Bakundu. Two years later, she bore her first son, Bekindaka Kelvin, and after four more years she had another son, Bekindaka Linus. Then five years later she bore her last son Bekindaka Samuel Ekoko in the year 1996. She learned the tailoring trade and was a very good seamstress.
     ‘She was also a very devout Christian, baptized at the age of nineteen. She made sure all her sons went to church every Sunday and gave them a very sound moral upbringing. In addition, she was a kind and gentle woman, slow to anger and very understanding.
      ‘She started witnessing the signs and symptoms of gastritis in the year 2010 and was taken to several hospitals around the country, yet every time the disease seemed to have left her, it showed its ugly face months later with an even greater intensity.’ He paused and looked at the sorrowful faces of the mourners who had again burst into fresh tears. Then he proceeded, ‘Yet, she did not let sickness destroy the firm foundation of her faith in God. Rather, she kept adding more bricks to the foundation through her steadfastness and the support of the Full Gospel Mission Church here.
     ‘In mid-September this year – while undergoing treatment at the Kumba District Hospital - she finally departed from this world to meet her Creator in heaven, leaving behind a sister and a brother, three sons, a granddaughter, a brother-in-law, a sister-in-law, two nieces, a nephew and many friends to miss her and hope to be reunited with her in heaven on the last day.’
     The mourners burst out crying after the biography ended, and Samuel almost cried his eyeballs out. His eyes were crisscrossed by many bloody lines that everyone around him implored him not to cry himself sick.
     The corpse was then buried and there was a lot to eat and drink. As custom demanded, there was plantain porridge in abundance with lots of goat meat and bush meat; and palm wine never ceased flowing. Other delicacies too were available, such as water fufu and eru, rice and stew, and the like.
  Although the deceased was a prominent member of a secret society in the village – that is, the Dipenda Widows Association - the family insisted she got a Christian burial, which was just what happened. Kelvin, Linus and their uncle spent so much money to ensure that the funeral was a grand one that they ran into huger debts when the budgeted amount of money had become small.
     Afterwards, a customary ten days of mourning allotted to the family of a deceased person who received a Christian burial was observed by the bereaved family. During this period, there was a lot of animations from various traditional dance groups and, as tradition dictated, no member of the bereaved family slept for those ten days. It was a challenging period for the entire family, especially for Samuel who had watched his mother suffer excruciating pains just before her death.
     And now – five days after the ten-day period, even after getting a lot of sleep – the members of the Bekindaka family looked both grieved and exhausted as dark circles were palpable underneath their eyes.
     Samuel’s uncle cleared his throat, rousing everyone from their personal recollections of the last trying weeks. He said, ‘This has been a very trying period for the entire family. Ten years after the death of our brother and father, we have now witnessed the demise of his wife, our sister and mother.’ He then paused to gather himself and let the impact of his first words sink in.
‘Whatever the case may be,’ he went on, ‘life must go on. I am very proud of, and grateful to my late brother’s eldest sons who have sacrificed a lot financially and otherwise to give their mother a befitting burial. We thank God for keeping them safe for us.
     ‘As we are well aware, our son Samuel is the rising sun of this family. We are already feeling the heat and seeing the light of his radiance which is his brilliant performance in school. Can anyone who sees the rising sun doubt that it would become scorching by midday? It is only a matter of time. Therefore, despite the challenges in this family, we shall encourage Samuel to shine on until he reaches his peak in the sky, by sending him to school this coming year.’
     Samuel instantly burst into fresh tears, crying so loud that Linus held him to his chest like a hen gathers her chicks under her wings when danger looms. Samuel had already come to the conclusion that there would be no more school for him, not after what the entire family had just been through.
He thought his uncle would ask him to stay with him and cultivate the cocoa plantation in the village while his brothers went back to Douala to make ends meet so they could raise some money to settle the debts incurred during the funeral and get back to their feet financially. The concern his uncle showed for his studies had, therefore, cut through to his heart like a double-edged sword.
     Kelvin said, ‘Thank you, uncle, for such wise words. We are indeed proud of Samuel and cannot let him sit at home when we know that he has a bright future ahead of him after he completes school. We shall do whatever we can to make sure he does just that, and get a good job so that he too can provide for the family. Samuel, when did you say school is to start?’
     Samuel’s cry had subsided now and Linus let him go. He turned to Kelvin and said, ‘November 30th.’
The dark clouds were already pouring out their rage on the earth now, the rain drumming hard on the corrugated aluminum roof of the big house and splashing onto the verandah. The children who had been playing outside had just now joined the adults inside the living room just before Claudine locked the front door to keep the rain from launching its assault into the house. Lucy was now seated on her mother’s lap and eyeing her uncle Samuel in awe, wondering why he was crying.
Samuel’s aunt told Cyprian to take his sister to their bedroom for their midday nap. She equally asked Quinta to send Lucy to sleep too, but Quinta said Lucy was a child who refused to sleep during the day and nothing she tried to get her to do so was ever fruitful. Indeed, unlike the others, Lucy did not look exhausted. Her big, black eyes radiated resilience as she eyed everyone in the room, her gaze finally resting on Samuel whom she now regarded with surprise.
     Kelvin then said, ‘In that case, Linus and I shall return to Douala the day after tomorrow to resume work and see how much money we can raise by then so that you can go to Buea by the time school starts.’
     ‘Thank you so much, brother,’ Samuel said as tears rolled down his cheeks though he did not cry. Then, turning to face the others, he said, ‘I promise I will not let you down.’
     ‘We know that, Sam,’ Linus said with a proud smile as he patted Samuel’s shoulder with his right hand. ‘We believe in you.’
     ‘Yes,’ Samuel’s aunt said. ‘We will support you until you can stand as a man and raise your own family. God will continually bless and keep you; in Jesus’ name!’
     ‘Amen!’ everyone affirmed, and Lucy stared at all of them again before turned to glue herself on her mother.
***
As planned, early in the morning two days later Kelvin and Linus returned to Douala with those they had come with after their uncle and aunt blessed them and everyone wished them a safe journey.
‘Call me when you get there,’ their uncle said as they departed.
But it was not until about for o’clock that evening that Kelvin called his uncle to announce their arrival at their house in Douala. His uncle was working in his cocoa plantation with Samuel and Cyprian when he received the phone call.
     ‘What took you so long to call?’ he asked Kelvin.
     ‘We just got home, uncle,’ Kelvin replied. ‘It is a very long journey from the village to Douala, and the journey from the bus station to our house is another long one; also, we were delayed on the way by traffic congestion.’
     ‘Ok. I hope you all arrived safely.’
     ‘Yes, we did.’
     ‘Good. Stay well and may God continue to keep you all for us.’
     ‘Amen. Goodbye, uncle. We will be in touch.’
     ‘Goodbye, my son,’ his uncle said before ending the call. ‘That was your brother,’ he told the boys when he joined them at work. ‘They have arrived safely.’
     ‘Thank God.’ Samuel let out a sigh of relief as he stood to stretch his body. ‘So many accidents have been occurring on that stretch of road between Kumba and Buea.’
     ‘Don’t you know we are all covered with the precious blood of Jesus, and so we are no scared of accidents?’
     ‘I know, uncle. I was just saying.’
     Cyprian now leaned on a cocoa tree to regain his strength after drinking from their container of water. Like Kelvin, Cyprian was a replica of his own father and had so much energy in his muscular body that he rarely got tired whenever he was working in the farm, and his father was always proud of him. Cyprian was a class six pupil in the village primary school.
     ‘Have you ever been to Douala?’ Cyprian asked Samuel.
     ‘I’ve been there once,’ Samuel said, ‘when I went to visit my brothers for the mid semester holiday last academic year.’
     ‘Enough talking,’ Samuel’s uncle called out from where he was now cutting the grass with his long sharp cutlass. ‘Get back to work!’
     When they returned home that evening, Samuel’s uncle told his wife that Kelvin and Linus had arrived safely as she set his supper of water fufu and egusi soup with bush meat on the dining-table.
     ‘That is good news,’ she said as she readjusted her loincloth round her waist and sat to her husband’s left on the table so they could discuss the events of the day while he ate, as was the custom every evening.
     Meanwhile, Samuel, Cyprian and Dorothy were helping themselves to their own supper in the kitchen behind the house after taking their baths while Samuel told them what Douala was like. Kumba was as far as Cyprian had gone out of the village, and that was only twice - on the two occasions when he went to visit his late aunt in the hospital. He was fascinated by the tarred road and kept on looking at it through the taxi window as they went to the hospital and back.
***
November 29th came faster than anyone expected and it was time for Samuel to return to Buea to resume his studies. His brothers had earlier sent him eighty thousand francs (80,000 Frs) through MTN Mobile Money and Linus had called to tell him that the money was to be used pay his fees for the academic year as well as for his allowance. Samuel thanked him immensely.
     When he told his uncle about the call, his uncle told him that it was what he and the brothers had planned, and he himself had already paid Samuel’s rent in advance for the whole year to his landlord in Buea through MTN Mobile Money. Samuel was overwhelmed with joy as he became even more aware that he was indeed going to be in school that year.
     So on that faithful morning when Samuel was to travel to Buea, after packing his things, his uncle summoned him into the living room where he and his wife were seated. His uncle wore a white singlet over a loincloth tied round his waist and was seated on the same armchair he had occupied during the family meeting when they decided to send Samuel to school that year. His wife, seated on the green couch, was dressed in a yellow gown.
     When Samuel entered the room dressed in a grey short-sleeve shirt over a blue pair of jean trousers with a pair of sandals, his uncle asked him to kneel before them.
     When Samuel complied, his uncle said, ‘You are about to return to Buea to continue with your education. Do not forget where you come from and how you came about to be in school this year.’ Pulling his own right ear, his uncle warned him, ‘Avoid bad friends and always concentrate on your books, for that is the main reason why you are going to Buea. I repeat, avoid bad friends, because they have been the ruin of many great men.’
     Samuel nodded vigorously, saying, ‘I will, uncle.’
     Then his aunt said, ‘Always read your Bible and pray every day. Do not be misled by anything that is not in agreement with your studies. Cyprian and Dorothy are waiting on the verandah with your things I have put some cocoyams, yams and plantains along with other things you will need in a bag among your things. Manage your money and belongings well. I have said all I have to say.’
     ‘I will, aunty. Thank you very much.’
     His uncle then cleared his throat and said, ‘Good. Now let us pray; then Cyprian and Dorothy will help you carry your things to the road where you get a motorcycle to take you to Wone.’ (Wone was the village where people who wanted to go to Kumba got vehicles to take them there.)
   Samuel’s uncle and aunt got to their feet, laid hands on his head and prayed for him, asking God to take him safely to Buea and keep him there peacefully, safe from harm. Before Samuel left, his uncle asked him to call when he arrived.
     When Samuel, Cyprian and Dorothy got to the road and the motorcycle rider was loading Samuel’s luggage on the carriage, Dorothy burst out crying, for she was going to miss Samuel.
     ‘Don’t cry, baby,’ Samuel said as he stooped and hugged her. ‘I’ll be back very soon. Just be a good girl.’ But she kept on crying.
     ‘You better get going,’ Cyprian told Samuel. ‘Nothing is going to stop her from crying.’
Samuel got to his feet and hugged Cyprian tight. He had always regarded the boy as the kid brother he never had, and he was going to miss all of them. Then letting go, he said, ‘Take care, Cyprian. Look after Dorothy and your parents. We will see again some other time.’
     ‘Of course,’ Cyprian said, disguising his pain to see Samuel go with a curt smile.
     The motorcycle rider pressed the honk button to tell Samuel that it was time to go. As Samuel mounted the motorcycle, he felt tears descend his cheeks and realized just how much he was going to miss everyone.
     As the motorcycle gathered speed, Samuel turned to look at Cyprian and Dorothy waving him farewell. Then absently, he waved back and kept doing so even when they were no longer in sight.