AYAH PAUL UNDER MORE TORTURE
At the time of my official assignment as Advocate General of the Supreme Court of Cameroon, my University classmate, Mr. Ndjodo Luc, was of the same grade and seniority in the legal profession as myself. But by law in force, he could not be my head of Department because I was/am older than him by two years. In this particular case, Ayah the ‘anglophone’ was not only marginalized but he lost even his position as a second class ‘citizen’. A francophone judge of index 1115 was appointed the deputy head of department, relegating Ayah the Anglophone on index 1400 to the third position.
This was just the starting point of my road to Calvary. Even as I embraced all the ignominy in stunning resignation, I waited for six months before being given an office. When the first consignment of new vehicles came, Ayah was given but a second hand official car which shortly went bad. I then took to my boss a list of spare parts needed for repairs but the latter, The Procureur General, hurled the list at me, insisting that the list must be translated into French before he would even look at it.
By the list of ‘seniority’ made by the court, I was the 9th (Number 1 Anglophone) in a descending order. What was all the stranger was that I was not given a new official vehicle even when the second consignment of fifteen new vehicles came. As a result, I had to go to work often by taxi. How could we get to this? It is no news that I went for 17 months without salary which has been confiscated by the state. That money, some of which was due as far back as 2013, is being owed me, even as these words are being written. I was therefore left without even a personal car!
Surprising as it is that, in the face of all these trials, I remained calm and uncomplaining; it is anyone’s guess that a conspiracy was still hatched to get rid of me. May I spare the readers the boredom of their re-reading a narrative of all that I have gone through in recent times. But I would be doing no-one justice if I failed to recount that I have been in captivity seven months now without an inkling of the reason for my ordeal and that by God’s grace I am still alive. Nor do I find it superfluous to repeat the plots and intrigues to see me dead ‘’naturally’’.
It is no news that after withholding my 17 months arrears of salary, they have sent me on retirement to further send me to an early grave in a two-pronged attack. As a sudden cardiac patient (which condition developed as a result of this aggression on me) put on a special diet, disconnecting my salary is a lethal injection. And being in captivity, I would not be able to follow up the payment of my pension. Bringing me even food as prescribed would cease; of course…..
As for Ndjodo Luc, why give me such a long rope? He has withheld my allowance for the second quarter of the year on the curious ground that I must hand over as a condition precedent. There can be nothing short of malice here because it is he who has to notify the decree of my retirement to me. He has not done so yet. It would be insulting to suppose that, at his level, Mr Procureur General does not know that notification comes before handing-over. His action then should be nothing short of persecution – torture!
And to buttress that, Mr Procureur General is eager to seal the only crevice that sustains my life, he broke into my office within weeks of my unofficial information that I am retired and installed someone in it. The very Procureur General who took six months to give me an office! God alone knows where all my personal effects in the office are after this official breaking – in (robbery)…
In an attempt to stem the conspiracy against me and in frantic struggle for survival, I wrote to Mr. Procureur General, demanding notification of the decree of my retirement. In my captivity, the letter was via the Secretary of State for Defense – another University classmate, Mr. Jean Baptiste Bokam. It is dead silence since the letter landed on Mr. Bokam’s table about July 25, 2017.
Gosh! So many war fronts against a single individual – Ayah Paul the Anglophone: a sudden cardiac patient whose blood pressure rose to close to 280 (276 to be precise) during the last cardiac crisis! The Price of being outlandish! The price of being ‘anglophone’! The price for standing by the truth at all times and against all odds!
Solace! My God is alive!