"I compose stories/scenarios for movies, but here in Cameroon it doesn't pay. I just finished one, which I would have already submitted to the PAGE global Awards in California, but I didn't do it due to a deficiency of funds. Is Can you aid me connect with the movie producers?
The script I have now written is entitled "Black Ego"; the action takes place in a village in Bamenda, Cameroon, GRU-São Paulo Airport (Brazil), Ruta 7, Darien Gap and Los Angeles.
Besides creative writing, I can do anything, sir. I learn fast."
"On the streets of my country, I see people fighting hunger, fear and a deep sense of abandonment. We're trapped between an envelopment of military force and a hammer of forced rebels. Cameroon is simply a beautiful, diverse country, sucked dry by leadership that refuses to surrender, even erstwhile its grip turns to dust. We look forward to the morning, which seems distant for life, asking the planet to yet look at us—not as a statistic, but as people who deserve to be seen."
I am 29 years old and I have a bachelor's degree Right.
Today I am a ghost in my own country. I live overnight, trapped between military brutality and rebel extortion. There's no job, there's no permanent meal, there's no bed that feels like home. all sunset brings terrifying silence, and all sunrise seems to be a mockery of the effort I put into a life that refuses to succeed.
I fought through the woods and the bullets, but standing here today, the thought of ending everything is the only thing that seems to be a quiet escape from the ground that has forgotten that I exist.
W The time was not only flowing; Crumpled.
The fog over the northwest hills of Cameroon erstwhile meant life; Now he's only hiding the dead. I am the boy of this land, born in a ten-man family, where my parents valued a immense number of hands more than dreams in our heads.
To the 4th degree, the well dried up. My education became a debt paid back later, cutting out virgin forests in Mamfe under the burning sun to finance the 2018 bachelor's degree – just erstwhile my planet began to burn.
The English-speaking crisis (see below) turned my graduation ceremony into a ceremony for my future. I tried to stick to the ground by nurturing 2 acres of cocoa, but the ground became a cemetery. In 2019, the sky collapsed. I saw 3 of my comrades executed by the army right in front of my eyes. I survived a wonderful verbal crime, only to be thrown into another cage. The Amba rebels demanded 250,000 francs — a luck I didn’t have — and took over my farm erstwhile I couldn’t pay.
I fled to Bamenda, but the city was no refuge. The wage of 50,000 francs in the bar wasn't even adequate for a area for 20,000 francs. I retreated to the village just to meet me with another darkness: the suffocating burden of "nightly harassment" and witchcraft. Desperately, I turned to the church, but the pastors were just vultures in their robes, ripping the last coins out of my huts to "sow seeds" that never bloomed.
We're a nation trapped in the shackles of a few. While the planet is moving towards the mid-21st century, we are attached to the dying pulse of a 93-year-old spirit. Paul Biya, a man who has held the office of president for over 43 years, is now little of a leader and more of a rumor. In this "Bad Nightmare" he joins the ranks of Obiang Nguema of Equatorial Guinea and Yoweri Museveni of Uganda – monarchs in suits who converted republics into household affairs, keeping their people in eternal captivity.
Translated by Google Translator
source:henrymakow.com
