Willem Ngouane - From his shadow to his darkness. Story of a downfall

Matter of fact the entire establishment was a victim of this press, so, having a bad opinion and saying rude things about a minister was not shocking originality. But what was special in mister Agbwala case was that even though he was the most popular person in the country, he was also among the short list of rare politician and public personality genuine. For years, these usual attacks and all the previous fake news on him turned me in a strong incredulity about every new scoop and every press organization including serious ones like the Herald; it took me a day before taking seriously their sensational revelation about supposed corruption in our administration, at first when the news came to my ear I thought this was another press strategic article to make good sales.

But among all these media, it was necessary to distinguish between the one that really does their job even if their critics were most the time rude and the one that only specializes in gossip and fake news. The first ones were praiseworthy, our country needed their critic, mister Agbwala good behavior and value could not cover all the scourges in the government. The press was only using the population hate toward their politician as an advantage and for me; it was understandable, even useful. Our citizens hold a grudge against politician since a long time ago and that anger was not ready to end with the mismanagement of public resources that was going on. Nobody had forgotten that this was the main cause of the two major wars that really traumatize generations of citizens and in where about ten thousand of our country people died. Indeed, just about ten years after the independence of our country, two successive putsches occurred with the justification by their authors to act for peace and better economic conditions that civil government couldn’t assure. Many years later our country was still trying to recover of those two military regimes conditions, matter of fact they had been economically worse than a civil one, plus they were autocratic, dictatorial, liberticidal. The worst was their long duration and the fact that they had been successive. Hopefully, as everything always ended, this difficult period also finishes by ending eight years ago with God helps after the last dictator dead. That same year, a free and fair election took place before our first civilian president since a long while been designated. This new era had everybody enthusiastic, but after enjoying democracy and freedom of speech for some time, we noticed that nothing had economic change; the same bad government which was occurring since forty years was still present. These last years the situation was even going worst, the country became highly corrupt, this time not only politician were to blame, in fact, every activity was touched by this scourge, but corruption was also so omnipresent that two years ago we topped the most corrupt countries in the world ranking, such bad publicity! Adding to this corruption, an unemployment rate very elevated and poverty, there were enough reasons to support the deep detestation of the population toward their leaders. That’s why mister minister was so special for me; he was unique, very dissimilar from his colleague. He had always displayed remarkable transparency in his manner of running our administration; he was the only minister who will always communicate and explains his management choices to the citizens. But it was a pity that the press was not taking all this to consider, in fact, they deliberately refused to see it, for a witness of mister Agbwala honesty and good heart, their behavior had always been painful to me. However, I was happy that no matter how rude can be the opposition about him, no matter the frustration; he would still be that good and peaceful leader. That’s why I was afraid that this meeting with the strikers could spoil his image ruder than the denigration campaign he endured.

On the following day, with the help of Christian’s contact, we finally came to an agreement with the strikers concerning the date of the meeting and the place of the debates. As I receive their confirmation I directly informed mister minister and with both decided on the hour of the meeting. Everything was set, but my fears were still high. Even though I succeeded to calm the protestors before the meeting as planned with Christian, I couldn’t get out of my mind the many tragedies that occurred at this event in the past years. Things can really get deteriorated at the end of the meeting depending on the decisions taken by both parties; frustrations can turn to passionate riot. Meeting like this are sensitive, it had been the main cause of numbers of crisis in our country in the past, the latest riot that occurred in the capital city was provoked after a frustrated union demonstrated their anger in the street. Six months ago, a peaceful manifestation organized by drivers’ union unhappy about a new government tax was infiltrated by thugs just an hour after it begins. Although most of the protestors quickly dissociated themselves from these hooligans, things get worse when the first scenes of looting occurred, the police were rapidly sent by the authorities to control the manifestation; the clash was unavoidable, and a peaceful protestation ended in an urban guerilla with hundreds of people killed or injured. Added to this, the riot that occurred in Waloua around this same period, it was logical to have high fears concerning the conclusion of this meeting we were about to hold. That the other party was a teacher’s union, and that teachers are not known for being violent but respectful and diplomatic, could not make me feel secure, a matter of fact, they could also be infiltrated by thugs ready to provoke destructions of public goods and brutality.

Three days later, it was on a sunny morning that we headed to the Okoroka public school which was stated as the place of the meeting. Our delegation comprised two vehicles, mister minister and two colleagues were the passengers in one of them with the presence of a gendarme, me and two other gendarmes were occupying my car. With three gendarmes with us, we were ready for any eventuality. Nevertheless, I still couldn’t feel secure, a somber feeling disturbed me, and I couldn’t stop fearing the horrific drama that could be if the meeting turned into a mess.

We rode slowly, coming closer to the meeting point, as the minutes were passing, anxiety was increasing in us. I could feel my heart beating fast as if it were begging me to run and prevent myself from the tension that was coming forward. When we came to the last yard preceding the school, there was an insecure silence. As I step out of my car, a strange wind touched my skin and provoked goose bumps all over my body; fortunately, my suit was large enough to hide this shame. Just as soon as we penetrated the school, ear-splitting male’s voices welcomed us with much hostility just to show us their passion and fervor. Their vocal aggression aggravated low groans in our group; I was seeing my colleagues trembling like little cats, this was disgraceful!

The more we were progressing across the courtyard, the more the tones of their voices were louder; it was as if they could feel our apprehensiveness and find motivation in it. We were moving like a convoy crossing an arid desert, checking on one another, all fearful like children except one person: mister minister was not displaying any sign of fright, he was instead looking determined. He was slowly and quietly moving forward despite the noise of the protestors. I knew that these people would have physically attacked us if the gendarmes and their huge guns were not there to frighten them. It was surely because of not being able to physically express their hostility that they put their dark excitement in their vocal cords by yelling their anger with much virulence.

A little time later, we noticed a skinny silhouette approaching us; it was an under-weight man, very tall, a pile of bones covered by a dry skin similar to those of far north people. As he came closer, he gladly introduced himself as the leader of the union before displaying a devilish smile which exposed his bad intentions. He then asked us to follow him toward one classroom at the border of the courtyard. We did as he asked, but dashed toward the classroom as boots started back louder since the protesters saw their said leader address us which much confident and defiance. Once we entered the room, we saw three men with somber looks as skinny as their leader, seated on a table with many documents. Even though their unfriendliness was really frustrating, their physical appearance was not as dangerous as I imagine; they were just simple teachers with immense spectacles. After introducing them, their leader then invited us to have a seat with a more sinister aura. From the atmosphere in the room at the beginning of the talk, we knew that this will be a harsh confrontation and that our opponent will do everything possible to have the last word. Subsequently, the group of strikers who welcomed us noisy at the courtyard came at the windows with the same hostility toward us, but this time with less noise although they were still spitting insults. They were displaying the favor of supporters of a football team, encouraging their side with vigor, hoping to enjoy the victory at the end of the encounter. The whole meeting was like a fight in a Roman arena, a gladiator battle where surge pressure and intimidation were weapons, everyone fighting to win at all cost.