Dr Akenji, the poet with the warning cry.
By Dr. Akenji
I am the son of shattered treaties,
Born where borders were drawn in greed—
Where Black hands welcomed snakes in suits,
And tribes forgot their common seed.
I watched my people kneel with smiles,
To strangers who claimed a higher place.
We opened arms, gave more than asked,
Yet paid the price in blood and disgrace.
We are too generous, some might say,
Too blind to masks of “aid” and lies.
We trusted kings who wore white gloves,
And prayed while freedom slowly died.
Tribal pride—our Achilles heel—
Made us pawns in Europe’s game.
They carved our souls on maps of pain,
Then left us bound to borrowed names.
Nigeria’s union was a fraud—
They called it amalgamation.
Ambazonia’s was no better—
Independence by joining: a damnation.
From Bakassi to the Sahel sands,
Our losses stretch across the land.
And while Arabs, Whites, and now the East,
Make plays—we fail to understand.
I speak not to praise Biafra’s cry,
Nor to crown the cause of Palestine.
But to warn my kin, lest we repeat
The fates of those who once were mine.
Rebuttal: Channeling Pain into Precision
In Response to Dr. Akenji
Dr. Akenji,
Your poem burns with the truth of generations—betrayed, disoriented, and displaced. You speak with the fire of the dispossessed, and for that, we must listen. But in the heat of anger, we must also guard against overgeneralization.
To say “Ambazonians are typical Black Africans… ignorant, tribal, and accepting dominion” is to speak with the voice of our oppressors. That is not who we are. That is not who we have been. And it must not be who we become.
Ambazonia’s case is not one of tribal folly—it is one of international betrayal.
Ours was a trust territory, denied a treaty, yet absorbed through deception.
Unlike Biafra, which fought from within Nigeria, or Palestine, which struggles under prolonged occupation, Ambazonia stands on clear legal ground: no union ever occurred. No constitution was signed. No plebiscite gave Yaoundé the right to rule Buea.
You are right that colonizers exploit our divisions. But our resistance must not mirror their racism. The idea that Arabs, Whites, or Asians uniformly manipulate Black nations ignores the complexities of international law, geopolitics, and agency. We must rise as strategists, not merely survivors.
Let your words be a trumpet, yes—but also a scalpel.
The time for loud truths has come, but they must be sharp, historical, and unifying.
Let us honour your fire by forging it into light.
—The Independentist Editorial Board
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