Isn't She Something?

By Gustaff Besungu

The story of a Cameroonian girl (a firstborn child) considered and named ill-lick giver, abandoned by her father,and challenged by a culture that cherish their firstborn to be male.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 22, 2009
• ISBN: 9781465316240

Gustaff Besungu

Gustaff Besungu: Is an upcoming performer who hails from a lineage of drum players. Born and raised in Cameroon-Africa, he travels and shares aspects of his rich and vibrant culture through Drumming, Dance, Songs, and Storytelling.

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Isn’t She Something?

Gustaff Besungu

Copyright © 2009 by Gustaff Besungu.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

57570

Contents

Gratitude

What to Know

Introduction

The Unexpected Firstborn

Her Name is Mbomb-i-beh

In the Heart of the Rain Forest

The Story of My Life

School Is a Good Thing

Echoes of the Song

Scholarship?

Jump for the Scholarship

National Attention

Life Runs through Our Veins

Today is Your Lucky Day

Married Were They

Degrees Are not a Substitute

for Marriage

Leaving for a Land Far Away

My Special ‘Acha’

(Isn’t She Something?)

Footnotes

To Anis Nyelle, Lua Besungu, and Mehdi Nyelle

For inspiring the framework of this story, and for their belief in my storytelling abilities even though they were at such tender ages when this story was first narrated.

Gratitude

Heartfelt Thanks to:

The Oostema and Aruk-Bissong family

The Eijsink family

Shalisa Muti

Ellen Kambuga

Dr. TaiSeal

All the friends who welcomed me in their homes

with open arms and warm hearts.

The Besungu and Ndiba family for loving support and encouragement, I am forever grateful.

What to Know

This is a fictional account inspired by a combination of events or interpretations thereof. The names and characters bear no resemblance to actual people.

The main reason for using names of family members and friends is a show of kindly appreciation for the support and encouragement I have received from these wonderful people throughout my life.

Your brother and friend.

Introduction

Mama, what can I do? I was driving from Kumba, hoping to hold in my arms my first boy and kiss his forehead. Now I cannot do that. Instead, we have a baby girl. What did I do to offend the gods? What did I do?

—Eyoh

"Mbomb-i-beh will be her name. She will be a reminder to us that she is a bringer of ill luck to this family—the Bapark family."

—Eyoh’s father

You are on the right path, my dear Catherine. Struggle and educate your girls, and you will not regret it.

—The Headmaster

The Unexpected Firstborn

We were swallowed up in choir practice, rehearsing melodies of songs for the Young Presbyterian Choir competition, when a friend tapped me on the shoulders.

Mbomb-i-beh, the youth coordinator wants to see you. He is in the choirmaster’s office.

I hesitated, But we are practicing.

She insisted, He wants to see you right away.

I noted the concern in her eyes. You mean right now?

She stomped. Yes, NOW!

I sighed and left the hall and ran to the back of the building to the choirmaster’s office. When I got there, the door was ajar, the youth coordinator and the choirmaster were talking. Out of courtesy, I stood and waited for them to finish. I overheard their disagreement over my position in the choir. They had not noticed me standing at the door.

The choirmaster explained,

Mbomb-i-beh has the sweetest voice in the choir. She leads very well.

The youth coordinator responded,

I know, sir, but we are preparing for a competition, a tough competition I must add.

That is why we need her. If she does not participate, the sopranos are lost, and without the sopranos, the choir is dead, especially for the songs we have chosen for the competition. You know that!

"It’s not about her singing at all. It’s about her name. You know what it means for someone with the name ill-luck giver leading our choir? For sure, it will bring us bad luck."

With an obvious sadness and disbelief in the choirmaster’s voice, he leaned toward the youth coordinator.

What are you saying then? That we tell her not to take part in the competition? She has worked very hard for it, you know!

"I hear you, sir, but that is my decision. As the youth coordinator, I want the best for the choir. This is hard, but I do not want to take chances with luck, you know we very much need luck too in winning the competition this year, there is a cash prize waiting. This congregation can surely make good use of that prize."

The choirmaster turned and noticed me standing by the door, face down. He reached for me, and with his hands on my shoulders, he said,

Mbomb-i-beh, I am sorry, knowing that I must have overheard their discussion. Deep in me, I was glad he defended my being in the choir but was disappointed he could not convince the youth coordinator to let me participate in the competition.

The youth coordinator waved me into his office. I went in, looking at the floor.

He asked, Mbomb-i-beh, do you love the choir?

I nod my head. Yes, sir.

Then you will do anything to make the choir win, right?

Yes, sir.

Okay. This is not about your singing. You know that. Right?

Yes, sir.

It will be best for the choir if you don’t take part in the competition. I am sorry your parents gave you such a name. I am sure they have a better explanation…

Before he could finish his sentence, I ran out of the office, crying. I went to the hall, gathered my things and rushed home as fast as I could. I didn’t say a word to any of the choir members whose mouths were wide open, stunned to see me crying. It was such a blow. I was ten years old.

When I got home, my mother was sitting on a mat, talking with my grandmother. She saw my eyes filled with tears.

She inquired, My dear, what happened?

"Mummy, why was I named an ill-luck giver?"

She held me in a close embrace, walked to the fireplace, and answered,

You were the unexpected firstborn.

Her Name is Mbomb-i-beh

My mother told me, on the day I was born, everyone in the room was expecting to see the face and hear the first cry of a baby boy, especially Aboh—the mother of my father. She had been dreaming of the day she would hold her first grandson in her arms and rock him with an abundance of loving care.

My first cry as I came out of my mother’s womb with relative ease was a disappointment to Aboh and everyone in the room, except my mother.

It sent mental shock waves among the elderly women present. They weren’t expecting the birth of a female firstborn. They were not sure how to take it and more important, how to relay the news to the other villagers of Bongos Ville.

Aboh instructed that news be sent to my father. She emphasized,

Tell Eyoh, his child came safely into this world. He is summoned to the village immediately. There are important matters to be taken care of.

My father was very happy to learn that my mother gave birth without complications, but he wasn’t informed of the sex of his first child. Happy and excited, he left the city of Kumba in his four-wheel jeep with the trunk loaded with cases of beer, rice, meat, and yams to celebrate.

When he got to the family compound in Bongos Ville, he was ushered into the room where the family consults on important matters.

Aboh started the discussion in an embittered voice,

Eyoh, my son, I am sad to inform you that we have fire in our hands, your baby is a girl. How are we going to handle this matter?

My father asked in disbelief, Mama, what are you saying?

Aboh replied, "Listen, new Papa! Take it easy. Have a cool head. We have to decide on what to do."

"Mama, what can I do? I was driving from Kumba hoping to hold my first boy in my arms and kiss his forehead. I cannot do that now. We have a baby girl instead. What did I do to offend the gods? What did I do?"

Holding his mother’s hands, my father wept like a baby who missed his mother’s breast milk (Uncle Ndim added to the story as my mother was narrating).

My father’s father suggested,

We have to get to the bottom of this. A rat doesn’t run in circles unless there is a cat behind its tail.

Aboh