By Peter Vakunta, PhD
Abstract
Recourse to oral literature as a medium for self-expression and tool of resistance has made gigantic strides in its evolution over the years. In the Republic of Cameroon this transformation manifests itself in the form of musical productivity and scholarship on the subject matter. Among those who have contributed significantly to emerging perspectives on the discipline are musicians themselves. Cameroonian songwriters are township griots[i] who double as entertainers and freedom fighters. Orality is the tool they wield skilfully in an unrelenting war against governmental dysfunction, human rights violations, endemic corruption, bad governance, abuse of power, influence peddling, impunity, misappropriation of public funds and other forms of dereliction of duty that plague postcolonial Cameroon. Of all the musicians that have dedicated their songwriting to the defense of the socially oppressed, Lapiro de Mbanga is the most valiant. His lyrics are telling. He has carved out a niche for himself as the voice of the voiceless.
Introduction
Songwriting as a creative art in Cameroon has evolved over time. Several factors account for this transformation. The most salient dynamic is the shift in political dispensation. The dictatorial regime of Ahmadou Ahidjo (1960-1982) brooked neither dissidence nor defiance. Consequently, musicians, young and old, confined their art to mere entertainment. Veteran musicians like Eboa Lotin, Salle John, Manu Dibango, Francis Bébé, Ekambi Brilliant, Anne-Marie Nzié, André-Marie Tala and many others who were in the limelight of Cameroonian musical industry in the 1960s and 1970s steered clear of political commentary. If they did, it was guarded praise for the Head of State, popularly referred to as “Grand Camarade” or “Senior comrade” in those days. The 1980s saw the emergence of talented singers like Sam Fan Thomas, Moni Bile, Ben Decca, Petit Pays, Ndedi Eyango, Guy Lobe, and Dina Bell among others. These songwriters, probably still suffering from the hangover of the Ahidjo era, were wary of political commitment. The status quo took a dramatic turn in the early 1990s when under duress from international role-players President Paul Biya reluctantly gave green light to multiparty politics in Cameroon following the troubled launch of Ni John Fru Ndi’s Social Democratic Front party at Ntarikon Park in Bamenda on May 26, 1990.
The advent of political pluralism in Cameroon has given birth to a new crop of songwriters who are unafraid to satirize the shortcomings of the powers-that-be. Topping the list of protest musicians is Cameroon’s maverick songwriter, Lapiro de Mbanga alias Ndinga man. Others include Longué Longué, Kotto Bass, Valsero a.k.a Le Général, and Donny Elwood to name but a few. These protest singers have refused to be cowed into submission. As Campbell (2001:5) would have it, “instead of becoming pawns in the political game, they have used the medium of the song…to mobilize the people.” This trio is unfazed by the brutality of Paul Biya’s dictatorial government. They tell it like it is.
This paper discusses the political commitment of Lapiro de Mbanga and what the singer’s political bravado portends for the democratization process in Cameroon. I contend that unlike his peers, Lapiro goes the extra mile in his relentless war against all forms of human and political rights abuses in Cameroon. He is not contented with entertaining by means of his ndinga,[ii] he takes the regime head-on by blowing the whistle on its innumerable foibles—corruption, dereliction of duty, impunity, influence peddling, tribalism, witch-hunting, and more. Like his South African counterpart, Mzwakhe Mbuli (1992), who argues that resistance is defense, Lapiro perceives his musical art as a weapon with which he continues to wage a vendetta against Biya’s lame duck government. It is noteworthy that Lapiro is not merely an observer of the political scene in his homeland; he actually identifies with the opposition. In fact, he is a card-carrying member of the most powerful opposition party in Cameroon—the Social Democratic Front (SDF). In July 2007, he ran for the position of mayor in his hometown of Mbanga under the banner of the SDF but lost to his opponent of the ruling CPDM party.
Lapiro de Mbanga inspires hope for the generality of hopeless Cameroonians who have lost faith in their government. He symbolizes the power of the powerless to resist those who prefer to see the downtrodden endure their dim fate of blight and misery. He believes in his role as the voice of the voiceless. As Sone (2009:19) points out, “the popular singer himself sees his primordial role as the liberation of Cameroonians from the tyranny of an ‘irresponsible and insensitive’ government….” He further notes that Lapiro’s music is a powerful medium for political activism. On this count, Lapiro has gained enormous popularity as an articulate, fearless commentator on Cameroon’s political landscape. He is not only prolific; he is also eloquent. According to Nyamnjoh and Fokwang (2005: 269), “Lapiro epitomizes the strengths and controversies surrounding a protest musician.” Born in Mbanga as Pierre Roger Sandjo Lambo, Lapiro is a songwriter known for his satirical lyrics and criticism of politicians in Cameroon. He has devoted his entire musical career to calling attention to the daily travails of pain, marginalization, exploitation and rejection faced by a great many Cameroonians. Lapiro has refused to be at the beck and call of corrupt and morally bankrupt politicians in his homeland and has instead used his musical genius to plead the cause of the wretched of the earth (Fanon, 1966). Singing mainly in camfranglais, a lingo that Ze Amvela (1989) has termed Camtok, Lapiro mixes lexical items from English, Pidgin and indigenous languages. With this hotchpotch, he is able to reach a broad audience in all strata of society, especially those to whom his message of hope is directed, namely, the young urban unemployed, cart-pushers, hawkers, sauveteurs or street vendors, beyam sellam or market women, taximen and bendskin[iii] drivers. Lapiro has been nicknamed Président du petit peuple or “President of the down-trodden” on account of the poignancy of his songs of resistance. He has become a symbol of resistance to governmental ineptitude and dictatorship in Cameroon.
Lapiro gained prominence in the early 90s during the pro-democracy movement in Cameroon when he launched his groundbreaking album titled “Mimba we”. The lyrics are loaded with signification as this except suggests:
You wan dammer you mimba we,
You wan souler you mimba we,
You wan nyoxer you mimba we-oh.
Oh Mimba we-oh, tara![iv]
Lapiro’s clarion call does not end at the doorstep of political leaders. He extends his appeal to the oppressed people of Cameroon, urging them to stand up for their rights. His compatriots acknowledge their predicament but shy away from taking action to right the wrongs of the past. Rather, they resign to their fate and refuse to indulge in bold actions:
We noi wan kick-oh
We no wan go for ngata
We de daso for ndengwe
A beg mimba we-oh,yes tara.
We no wan problem para
We no wan go for Ndengui
We di fain daso garri
For heleo we own family-oh![v]
Fear is the leitmotif in this song. Lapiro suggests that Cameroonians have been rendered inactive by fear of arrest and incarceration. It should be noted that the word “Ndengui” is an allusion to Cameroon’s maximum security prison, code-named Kondengui. “Mimba we” is a loaded song; it calls upon the Head of State and his ministers to not turn a blind eye to the legitimate grievances of the rank and file. He appeals to those at the helm to be mindful of the thorny problem posed by marginalization in Cameroon. This song admonishes the president against paying scant attention to the plight of the downtrodden. Words like ‘dammer’, ‘suler’, ‘tara’ and ‘nyoxer’ are ‘Lapiroisms’[vi] created for the sole purpose of veiling his intention to commit what Verschave (2004:8) calls “crime de lèse majesté or insult to the Head of State’s honor. It is a composite language minted to communicate to the common people in a language they best understand. ‘Dammer’ is a camfranglais word for manger (to eat); ‘suler’ translates the standard French word boire (to drink); ‘tara’ is slang for patron (boss or big shot); ‘nyoxer’ is a euphemism for ‘sexual intercourse.’ Lapiroisms reflect the provocative attitude of its speakers and their jocular disrespect of linguistic norms and purity, clearly revealing its function as an anti-language (Halliday, 1977).
Like most protest musicians, Lapiro drums up support from the rank and file as this excerpt clearly shows:
Nkoululu ah wan tok,
Mokolo ah wan gi ticket
Marche Central ah go trowe he he!
Sauveteur ah chakara?[vii]
Because he has arrogated the role of mouthpiece of the underprivileged to himself, he curries their support in his protest movement against Biya’s despotic regime. These lyrics bear testimony to the disenchantment of the singer. He chides the president and his lieutenants for corruption, indifference to the plight of the populace, and dereliction of duty. His song is the cry of a disillusioned Cameroonian whose heart throbs for his fatherland. “Mimba we” seems to be an indictment of Cameroon under Paul Biya. After blasting the president, the musician addresses the economic crisis that has hit the nation hard:
For dis heure for austérité so,
For dis heure wey cinq no mus change position
Yes, austérité da be sei dollar no mus change foot
Wusai we own espoir dei no?[viii]
The rhetorical questions that punctuate Lapiro’s lyrics are symptomatic of the singer’s mental discomfort in a world gone topsy-turvy—a country where democracy has metamorphosed into demo-dictatorship; rigor and moralization have been transformed into reckless abandon and immorality. In ‘mimba we’ Lapiro underscores the fundamental ailments that account for the deplorable state of affairs in Cameroon under President Paul Biya. He insists that there is a gamut of cankers eating deep into the social fabric of Cameroon under the incumbent, not least of which is indifference. Backstabbing, double-speak and a penchant for vengeance on the part of public officials compound the ailments afflicting the nation at risk that Cameroon has become.
Lapiro has been a notorious political gadfly in Cameroon for close to two decades. He has dominated the musical arena and distinguished himself as a resistance singer who remains unfazed by threats of arrest and incarceration. In fact, he has borne the brunt of his political activism in the form of prison terms. In 2008 following a popular uprising against mounting food and gas prices in Cameroon’s major cities, he was arrested and jailed in the notorious New Bell prison for three years on trumped up charges. But he remains unshaken by these threats and harassment from the government of Paul Biya. He is a musical virtuoso who uses his talents to sway crowds. He utilizes his guitar to communicate messages that unsettle political juggernauts nationwide. He sees his music as a lethal weapon. It should be noted that in 1992, Lapiro reached the acme of his musical career during the infamous “opérations villes mortes” or “ghost town operations”. Sadly enough, this period was also Lapiro’s waterloo because his voice suddenly went silent and his fans concluded that he had eaten soya[ix] others thought he had been a victim of government censorship. As Pigeau (2011:219) points out, “Ses fans ont estimé qu’il avait trahi leur cause et rallié celle du pouvoir. Une rumeur a circué affirmant qu’il avait reçu 22 million de FCFA de la part des autorités. Menacé par ceux qui l’adulaient peu avant le chanteur a du se mettre à l’abri à Yaoundé.” [x]Angered by high living costs and a constitutional amendment that was intended to allow Mr. Paul Biya to stay in power indefinitely, Lapiro composed a song titled “Constitution Constipée” (2008) (Constipated Constitution), in which he describes the country’s president as an exhausted man “caught in the web of networks that compel him to stay in power even though he is tired.” Lapiro calls for help, probably from the international community, to stop Paul Biya from committing constitutional rape. He states in no uncertain terms that Paul Biya is burned out and needs to retire without further ado. Here are the lyrics of the song that earned him a three-year prison sentence in the infernal New Bell prison in Douala:
Help!
Come deliver us
There is danger out there
White-collar thieves are
Bent on mutilating the Constitution of my country
The Nation’s grave-diggers want to
Put the Lions in the cage (…)
The rooster is harassed and shaken by threats of hold-up
The Big Boss is tired
The Father of the Nation is exhausted
Give him the opportunity to rest
Pa is tired
He needs help (…)[xi]
The original version of this song (see footnotes) is a mix of French and Cameroonian pidgin English. It became the unofficial anthem of protesters during the 2008 youth uprising in Cameroon, and Lapiro was arrested and charged with inciting unrest. In September 2009, he was sentenced to three years in prison and ordered to pay a fine of 280 million CFA francs (640,000 US dollars) as compensation for damage caused during the riots. In spite of this humiliation by the government of his homeland, Lapiro has regained international renown and has become even more vocal against the misdeeds of the Biya regime. During the presidential poll on October 9th, 2011 he called on all conscientious Cameroonians to cast blank votes to show their contempt for Mr. Paul Biya. In November 2009, he was selected as the winner of the global “Freedom to Create Imprisoned Artists Prize”. The jury remarked that his songs constituted a cultural megaphone by which the disenfranchised and politically endangered can vicariously exercise free speech.
The language in “Constitution Constipée” is surprisingly free of the Lapiroisms[xii] to which this maverick songwriter has accustomed his admirers. However, Lapiro culls words and expressions from Pidgin English, and indigenous languages spoken in Cameroon to embellish his songwriting. He speaks in a lingo that the rank and file can understand. Expressions such as “Big Katika don taya’oh!”, “Répé don slack’oh!”, “Wuna lep yi yi rest”, “Répé don fatigué” and “Yi wan go rest (…) are pidgin expressions. This extremely brilliant singer has even created his own brand new lingo called Lapiroism which is extremely difficult for the elite to understand. It should be noted that the word “répé” is the inverted form of “père” [father]. Camfranglais speakers have borrowed this technique of lexical inversion from speakers of French Verlan[xiii].
In 2001, Lapiro wrote a song titled “Na You” in which he sounded brazenly confrontational. “Na You” is a pidgin expression that could be translated as ‘You are to Blame’. The circumstance of the composition of this song is a classic example of the transformation of a social rebel to an astute and indefatigable militant political activist. Lapiro bemoans the rape of democracy in Cameroon. As he puts it, “People should make a distinction between multiparty politics and democracy. I think that what we have in Cameroon is multiparty and not democracy. Even within political parties, the assessment is the same because those with new ideas and contrary views are regarded as opposition within the house and if you insist you are dismissed” (quoted in Sone, 25).
In “Na You” Lapiro stands up tall in front of the Cameroonian Head of State, and contemptuously spits—or to use the actual language understandably spiteful Cameroonians would use—pisses on him:
You go for Bamenda
Abakwa boys dem di sofa.
From north to south
Ma complice dem di hala-oh!
From east to west-oh!
Free boys dem di gaz-oh!
Na you do’am –oh!
Na you do’am –oh!
Na you do’am –oh! He! he!
Na you sipoil dis kondre.[xiv]
The accusing finger that Lapiro points in the face of Paul Biya is as provocative as his words are defiant. In no uncertain terms, he holds the president accountable for all the mess in Cameroon: “Na you do’am–oh!”/ “Na you sipoil dis kondre!”This could be translated as “You did it!” “You have ruined this country.” The rebellious songwriter does not stop at accusation; he enjoins the president to repair the damage without further ado:
You mus fix’am–oh!
You mus fix’am–oh!
You go fix’am–oh!
Na you demage dis kondre
You mus fix’am–oh!
You go fix’am–oh!
Lapiro insists on getting to the bottom of the mess in Cameroon and promises to sing the truth and nothing but the truth. It is important to note that Lapiro’s lyrics amount to political commentary. His songs are tainted with socio-political realism. Listen to what he has to say about the need for politicians to be truthful to the electorate:
La vérité étant… ce qu’on ne retrouve jamais
Aux tables des menteurs
Je jure de chanter la vérité et rien que la vérité
Mombo ah go brass before dem meng me
But ah go bras daso
Baisse de salaire na you!
Arriérrés na you!
Compression du personnel na you!
Licenciement na you!
Privatisation na you!
Liquidation na soso you…
Moi ah comprends sei
Do how, do how Johnny four foot
Go las come dammer nylon ana carton for dis kondre…[xv]
Lapiro’s tone is both aggressive and provocative in this song. In a damning diatribe, he banishes truth from the discourse of politicians: “La vérité étant… ce qu’on ne retrouve jamais aux tables des menteurs.” He does not only label politicians liars, but pins the blame for chronic unemployment, salary cuts, employee lay-offs, privatization of state enterprises and more on the shoulders of politicians. He argues that if this decline continues, there will come a time when Cameroonians will have a hard time of it: “Do how, do how Johnny four foot go las come dammer nylon ana carton for dis kondre.” Lapiro underscores the dire consequences of this state of affairs as follows:
Consequence, boys dem dong ton na attaquant
Nga na ninja
Small tchotchoro for quartier dem dong begin
Aggresser man pikin for Carrefour…
Licencié na taximan
Ala wan na bendskinneur
BTS na secrétaire for long sitik
Someone na bayam sellam
GCE O/L na cuti mbanga wet cuti rubber
Ala wan di waa na for farm banana
Breveté na chargeur
Ala wan na forceur
GCE A/L na broke stone
Someone di dig na sand-sand
Na we dis today kondre dong fall stock…[xvi]
What Lapiro says in his lyrics may sound illusionary for listeners who are not familiar with Cameroon today. For instance, who would fathom the likelihood of GCE A/L certificate holders breaking stones as a livelihood? Sadly enough, this is not fiction but reality. Holders of the GCE O/L certificate and its French equivalent called Breveté are earning a pittance by harvesting palm-nuts and rubber. Anyone who disputes the veracity of Lapiro’s assertions would do well to make a trip to Cameroon and the truth will dawn on them. As always, the tireless singer calls on the powers-that-be to step in and do the right thing:
You mus fix’am–oh!
You mus fix’am–oh!
You go fix’am–oh!
You mus fix’am–oh!
You go fix’am–oh!
The social chaos and economic morass prevalent in Cameroon constitute the leitmotiv in Lapiro’s musical composition. His sarcasm and outright invectives are directed at Paul Biya, the Cameroonian Head of State who has been described by French journalists as “Le Roi Fainéant”[xvii] or the Lazy King. The fiery singer does not mince words as he bemoans the fate of university graduates turned taximen and bendskin drivers: “Licencié na taximan /Ala wan na bendskinneur”. In this song, Lapiro takes umbrage at a system that kills its youths; a system that reduces its educated youths to call girls and urchins: “boy dem dong ton na attaquant nga na ninja /small tchotchoro for quartier dem dong begin/aggresser man pikin for carrefour…” What Lapiro says in his lyrics may sound far-fetched but nothing is a figment of his imagination. The fact of the matter is that hundreds of thousands of university graduates are roaming the streets of Cameroon looking for odd jobs just to make a living in a country that is replete with natural resources. The musician contends that Paul Biya’s legacy to Cameroonians is a poisoned gift. So much for the decay of a nation state! Of the protest musicians in Cameroon, Lapiro de Mbanga seems to be the most audacious and clairvoyant. He is a visionary. He is fearless. He speaks the truth, without giving a damn whose ox is gored.
In another song titled Lef am so Lapiro calls for the arrest of Mr. Paul Biya and his criminal ministers:
Send everybody to kondengui! /
Everybody to kondengui! /
Send Big Katika to kondengui! /
Send all his ministers to Kondengui! /
Sure! Sure! Sure! (…)[xviii]
The original version of this song speaks volumes about the linguistic innovation characteristic of Lapiro’s musical composition. Lapiro’s language could be described as a mix of several codes. Interestingly, this lingo is likely to pose insurmountable comprehension obstacles to foreign listeners of Lapiro’s music not familiar with Lapiroisms. A word like ‘Katika’ is a polysemous lexeme. In other words, it carries several connotations. In daily usage, “katika” refers to a bouncer in a nightclub. Lapiro has resorted to the technique of semantic shift to endow the word with an entirely new signification: head of state or leader. In a similar vein, ‘mandat’ has undergone a semantic shift and taken on a new meaning. It is used in this context as a translation of the English word, “life span” or “existence.” “Nchinda” is a loan from Pidgin English. Generally, it translates the notion of “royal pages”. In this context, it translates the English word “lieutenants” or “ministers”. ‘Ndoh’ is a camfranglais (Kouega, 2003) word for ‘money’. Njanka and manguru ngwété are expressions gleaned from Cameroonian indigenous languages. Njanka is a Duala word for “child.” Manguru ngwété” translates the concept of abject poverty.
Lapiro resorts to code-switching in an attempt to translate the speech patterns of the people he addresses in his musical compositions. His goal is to voice popular discontent against a regime that has turned its back on the people it is mandated to serve. Nyamnjoh and Fokwang (2005:252) note that Lapiro’s music “reveals the peculiar character of the relations between art, specifically oppositional music, and a postcolonial African State.” In Lapiro’s music lies the irrepressible urge to articulate, and name the incredible. If Lapiro remains Cameroon’s most revered musician, it is precisely on account of his complex response to Cameroon’s postcolonial incredibility. He is notorious for the daring punches he throws at the cabal governing Cameroon today. His acrimonious diatribes and invectives are leveled at individuals and institutions he perceives as perpetrators of social anomie. He has successfully cultivated and made hegemonic in global consciousness an image of himself as a quintessentially anti-establishment musician.’
In a nutshell, this critical analysis of selected pieces from Lapiro’s musical repertoire leads us to the conclusion that his music is not only danceable but didactic as well. His songs of protest address Cameroon’s perennial problems. He calls upon perpetrators and victims of human rights abuses to make a volte-face. The rationale for Lapiro’s musical compositions is to raise awareness in the hope of galvanizing the masses into open revolt. Mandela aptly captures the quintessence of protest music when he observes that African music is often about the aspirations of African people, and it can ignite the political resolve of those who might otherwise be indifferent to politics (Long Walk to Freedom, 1994). Lapiro is a protest songwriter whose lyrics harbor seeds of a revolution. His danceable lyrics translate mixed messages of hope and despair. The motif that runs through his songs is the theme of universal human rights and freedoms. His songs have produced a tonic effect on the younger generation of songwriters who are now hell bent on taking their destiny into their own hands by every means necessary. Lapiro is a protest songwriter who doubles as entertainer and social critic.
Notes
[i] Praise-singers
[ii] Guitar
[iii] Motor-cycle taxis
[iv] At table, remember us;
When you’re having a drink, remember us;
When you’re having sex, remember us.
Oh, remember us, for you’re our leader.
[v]We don’t want to steal
We don’t want to go to jail
We just need to work
We beg you to think about us, boss
We are not looking for trouble
We don’t want to go to Kondengui
We are only looking for a means
To help our family-oh![v]
[vi] Neologisms
[vii]Nkoululu I want to speak ,
Mokolo I want to criticize
Marche Central I will talk he he
Sauveteur I will spill the beans
[viii]At this time of austerity
At this time when a dime must stay where it is
Yes, austerity means that each dollar must be spent wisely
Where is our hope today?[viii]
[ix] Taken a bribe from the government
[x] His fans thought he had betrayed their cause by crossing the carpet to join the camp of the ruling party. A rumor had circulated that he had received the sum of 22 million CFA francs from the government. Threatened by those same people who had sung his praises the singer took cover in Yaoundé.
[xi] Au secours!
Venez nous délivrer
L’heure est grave
Les bandits en cols blancs
Veulent braquer la constitution de mon pays
Les fossoyeurs de la république
Veulent mettre les lions en cage (…)
Le coq est harcelé et menacé d’une tentative de holdup (…)
Big Katika don taya’oh!
Répé don slack’oh!
Wuna lep yi yi rest
Répé don fatigué
Yi wan go rest (…)
[xii] Turns of phrase created by Lapiro de Mbanga. Lapiroisms have enabled this popular Cameroonian singer to communicate with the underprivileged classes of society in a language that they understand best
[xiii] Verlan is an argot or slang. It is French language featuring inversion of syllables in words; it is common in youth talk. It derives from a long French tradition of transposing syllables of individual words to create new words. The name verlan is an example: it is derived from inverting the syllables in l'envers ("l’envers," pronounced lan-ver).
[xiv] If you go to Bamenda
You ‘ll find Abakwa boys suffering
From north to south
My friends are protesting!
From east to west-oh!
Free boys are farting oh!
You are to blame oh!
You are to blame oh!
You are to blame oh!He!
[xv]Truth is never… found at the table of liars
I promise to sing the truth and nothing but the truth
My friend, I will speak at the risk of being killed
I will speak regardless of what happens to me
Salary cuts is your handiwork
Deferred payments of arrears is you
Employee lay-offs is you
Firing workers is you
Privatizing state enterprises is you
Running companies aground is still you
It is now clear to me that in the not too distant future
The goat will have no choice but to eat nylon and cardboard boxes in this country
[xvi] Consequenctly, boys have become attackers
Girls have become ninjas
Little girls are now sexually harassing men at the intersection
BA degree holders are taximen
Others are bendskin commuters
BTS holders work as secretaries in offices
Others are market women
GCE O/L hoders are harvesting palm nuts and rubber for a living
Others are involved in manual labor on banana plantations
Brevete holders are park boys
Others are loaders
GCE A/L holders break stones as a livelihood
Here we are living in a country that has gone out of business…
[xvii] “Mockery of Paul Biya by French Journalists.” Retrieved on May 20 from http://www.postnewsline.com/2012/04/synopsis-mockery-of-paul-biya-by-french-journalists.html
[xviii] Envoyez tout le monde à kondengui! /Tout le monde à kondengui! /Big Katika à kondengui! /Tous les ministres à kondengui! /Biensûr! Biensûr Biensûr! (…)
Discography
Lapiro, de Mbanga. Lef am so. YouTube. Retrieved August 15, 2009 from
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LVYEAs-OtXM
________________. Constitution constipée. You Tube. Retrieved June 19, 2010 from
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LVYEAs-OtXM
• “Na You”. Retrieved August 15, 2008 from http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Thqb_aTByAE)
• “Kop nie”. Retrieved September 21, 2010 from http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Thqb_aTByAE)
• “Mimba wi.” Retrieved September 16 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Thqb_aTByAE
• “Pas argent pas amour.” Retrieved July 18, Retrieved September 21, 2010 from http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Thqb_aTB
•” Qui n’est rien n’a rien.” Retrieved September 21, 2010 from http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Thqb_aTB
• “Jolie fille.” Retrieved July 18, Retrieved September 21, 2010 from http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Thqb_aTB
• “Mi nding mi be, foua.” Retrieved July 18, Retrieved September 21, 2010 from http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Thqb_aTB
Work cited
Campbell, Horace. (2001). Rasta and Resistance: From Marcus Garvey to Walter Rodney. Trenton:Africa World Press, Inc.
Fanon, Frantz. (1966). The Wretched of the Earth. Trans.Constance Farrington. New
York: Grove Press.
Halliday, M.A.K. (1977).Language as a Social Semiotic: The Special Interpretation of Language and Meaning. Baltimore, University Park Press.
Kouega, Jean-Paul. (2003): “Camfranglais: A New Slang in Cameroon Schools.” English Today 19.2,23–29.
Mandela, Nelson. (1994). Long Walk to Freedom. Boston: Back Bay Books.
Mbuli, Mzwakhe. (1992). Resistance is Defense. Beverly Hills, Caroline Records.
Nyamnjoh, Francis and Jude Fokwang.( 2005). Entertaining Repression: Music and Politics in
Postcolonial Cameroon. African Affairs 104/415, 251-274.
Pigeaud, Fanny. (2001).Au Cameroun de Paul Biya. Paris: Karthala.
Sone, Mirabeau Enongene. (2009). “Lapiro de Mbanaga and Political Vision in Contemporary
Cameroon.” The International Journal of Language , Society and Culture 27, 18-26.
Verschave, Francois Xavier. (2004). De la Francafrique à la Mafiafrique. Bruxelles: Editions
Tribord.
Ze Amvela, Etienne. (1989.) “Reflexions on the Social Implications of Bilingualism in the Republic of Cameroon.” Annals of the Faculty of Letters and Social Sciences. Yaoundé:
University of Yaounde.
About the Author
Professor Peter Vakunta teaches at the United States Department of Defense Language Institute, California.
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