Captain Victor Timoh The forgotten air giant
By The Editorial desk- The Independentist
In the quiet dignity of this photo lies a painful truth that many still refuse to confront. The man you see here—dressed in the proud uniform of a Cameroon Airlines captain—is not just a former pilot. He is a symbol of a people systemically betrayed by a government that never saw them as its own.
He was one of the few Ambazonian pioneers to rise through the ranks in a post-colonial Cameroon that claimed to be “one and indivisible”—yet divided everything, from opportunity to dignity, along colonial fault lines. A skilled aviator who flew for Cameroon Airlines, this man once carried hundreds of lives across the skies. But when a tragic crash occurred, he did not run. He saved lives. He showed heroism. He fulfilled every code of duty.
But when it was time for the state to fulfill its promise to him—his retirement, his pension, and above all, the compensation due for a life-altering event—it turned its back. Not only did the government fail to honour its word, it diverted the compensation funds meant for him and others like him. While others in the regime enriched themselves, this Ambazonian pilot, a national hero by any standard, was left to die in poverty.
Yet this tragedy is not an isolated case. It is part of a chilling pattern—one that spans decades and cuts across professions, regions, and sacrifices.
Take, for instance, the heartbreaking story of Stephen Tataw, the captain of Cameroon’s legendary 1990 World Cup squad. Tataw led the Indomitable Lions into history, becoming the first African captain to reach the quarterfinals of a FIFA World Cup. Cameroon stunned the world. Roger Milla danced, but Tataw led. He was the quiet, determined defender from Kumba—an Ambazonian by birth and spirit—whose leadership became a symbol of national pride.
But what did he get in return?
After retirement, Stephen Tataw fell into obscurity, joblessness, and ultimately, poverty. The same state that paraded his image on billboards and national campaigns abandoned him. He died in 2020, not in glory, but in desperation—unable to afford proper healthcare, housing, or recognition. There was no national monument. No lasting pension. No honoured farewell.
Two different men. Two different fields. One identical fate: used, forgotten, and discarded—because they came from a people that this system was designed to exploit but never empower.
Ask yourself: Would this have happened if they bore a different name or came from a different region?
This is the cruel inheritance of Ambazonians in La République du Cameroun—a state that weaponized unity while practising division. Our judges were silenced. Our teachers were dismissed. Our pilots and captains were betrayed. Our culture erased. And our heroes? Used until they could give no more—and then buried in silence.
Ambazonians are not asking for pity. We are demanding truth. Justice. And recognition of our rightful place in history and humanity.
The pilot in this photo and the captain who wore our flag at the World Cup represent not just individuals, but an entire generation of Ambazonians who gave their best—and were betrayed by a system that was never built for them.
Let their stories be a warning to all who still believe in the myth of unity under oppression.
May we never forget them.
And may we never stop demanding a future where Ambazonians no longer die in poverty after a lifetime of service—while their oppressors die in luxury funded by stolen dreams.
The Editorial desk
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