A Dirty Game

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Mayor Foti is accused of killing his predecessor by a veteran journalist whom he desperately wants dead. He hires assassins to kill the journalist only for the assassins to kill his own son instead. As a consummate embezzler of public funds, Mayor Foti is determined to be filthy rich and above the law. He sends his other son to Germany to assist with siphoning abroad of stolen money. For how long will Mayor Foti have the last laugh? Heavy drinking and a cardiac arrest are waiting round the corner. Whom for? � Here indeed is a dirty game!

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Publié par
Ajouté le 17 mai 2011
Nombre de lectures 1
EAN13 9789956579358
Langue English
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A DirtyGame Wilfred Ndum Akombi
A Dirty Game Wilfred Ndum Akombi Langaa Research & Publishing CIG Mankon, Bamenda
Publisher: LangaaRPCIGLangaaResearch & Publishing Common Initiative Group P.O. Box 902 Mankon Bamenda North West Region Cameroon Langaagrp@gmail.com www.langaa-rpcig.net Distributed in and outside N. America by African Books Collective orders@africanbookscollective.com www.africanbookcollective.com ISBN:978-9956-579-70-9© Wilfred Ndum Akombi 2011DISCLAIMER All views expressed in this publication are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of Langaa RPCIG.
One itting and sipping spirits with friends of the same frieSnds, had a huge appetite for riches and hated to discuss political party and discussing the possibilities of becoming richer was a pastime for Foti. He, like his with any low class men in society, as birds of the same feather flock together. People often thought he was the architect of hideous and incredible acts because he wasn’t open in whatever he was doing. It seemed none of his convictions in all his life would ever quash those allegations. Foti was the Lord Mayor of Tiko. He fought hard for the position and was fighting hard to maintain it. The people of Tiko city gave him many names: obstinate fellow, political sphinx, financial wizard, big fish, quiet killer, unscrupulous mayor and so on. It was bright that afternoon. The mayor was ready to address the people on the death of former mayor, Kamso. It was one of the biggest crowds with almost all hands on jaws. Kamso died just two days before, on January 1st, 2010, on his way from a New Year party. Before his death, he had become a well known face in Tiko. He was a member of the opposition party thrown out from the council after a parliamentary political duel. ‘Crime in this area is on a marathon increase,’ said Foti to the crowd. ‘It is a point of concern for every Tiko man in particular and the entire Southwest region as a whole. I will not hold my breath for a second until those who have assassinated the former mayor are brought to order. The forces of law and order are seriously investigating…’ The population was in chaotic voices that Saturday morning. It should be recalled that Kamso had designed an excellent plan for Tiko subdivision during his five years as head of the council. In the midst of the crowd were journalists from private newspapers as well as human rights
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activists. When the mayor stepped down from the elevation after his speech, many journalists scrambled to question him. ‘Lord Mayor,’ said Tanga, a most popular journalist. ‘The people do not know how the deceased was dealt with. Do you have any word of explanation?’ ‘Ehmm ehmm… I was informed thirty minutes after the incident. I reached the scene five minutes later and saw blood oozing from the deceased’s skull. For now, I have nothing to say about how he was killed until the investigations end.’ ‘His death has come just at the time of allegations of attempted murder on the late mayor by a group of militants from your own party. If you can see on the placards held by some of the people in the crowd, it is written that militants of your party killed the former mayor. How do you react to that?’ ‘Such allegations by The Watch Newspaper aren’t true. There was a thorough investigation. Our militants were not involved in such malignant acts. I think any allegations could carry tremendous consequences if they can not prove it. Any assassination of character shall be redressed in the court of law.’ The Watch Newspaperreported that he escaped once assassination in a previous incident, and no accusation of false statements has been made. Last week, there was another report thatSilence is acceptance.Is that true?’ ‘No. LetThe Watch Newspaper and its opposition-sponsored bunch of political maniacs say whatever they want. I think we are in a country that operates on law like any other. Let them baffle us in a court of law if they’re confident in those allegations.’ ‘Some of the militants…’ The mayor suddenly tore through the crowd, leaving Tanga and other journalists. The police guarded him to his jeep. He adjusted his gowns on his shoulders with a fat and courageous smile and entered the ostentatious car.
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Foti was very close to Kingsley Ebot, the police commissioner for the subdivision. Through Kingsley, Foti commanded the Tiko Police even more than the divisional officer who had that right more than all others. The ruling party, the CPDM (Cameroon People’s Democratic Movement), controlled Tiko Subdivision. The majority of sympathisers of the main opposition party in the country, the SDF (Social Democratic Front), were English speaking Cameroonians. Meanwhile, the majority of CPDM militants were French speaking. The opposition party had been and was the main political impediment for Foti in that local government area.
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Two n the city, a demonstration formed spontaneously. Men, KIamso’s death. women, and students didn’t take long to make placards with such writings asking for the mayor to account for The sun was setting and secondary school students with some university students from Buea started putting houses into flames. They had been accumulating anger for long. At the greatest dilemma, Foti called the commissioner of police. ‘This is a grave situation,’ he said. ‘What do you think?’ asked Kingsley in an eager response. ‘Send your boys to stop those rowdy cowards. The next target could be my villa.’ Kennedy, the mayor’s son, a calm and gentle man, came with words that the crowd was making way for the State Counsel’s fabulous house. A call came from the Divisional Officer asking Kingsley to join police officers with gendarmes to stop the crowd from destruction. Tanga was actively rushing after the crowd picking all events. That was his job and he always proved that he loved it. It wasn’t only because of money but because he found solace in it and was hugely dedicated. Like frightened palm birds, the students retreated from the council building, rushing towards the municipal stadium. The gendarmes fired their first shot in the air. Bergit was a Doctorate student pursuing his career in constitutional law. He had been with his supervisor, Professor Hansel, for two days working on his thesis for a final defence. He lived in Tiko while following studies at the Buea University. A police truck was on high speed from the direction of Public Security. They were chasing the crowd. With them
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were water cannons, tins of tear gas, guns, police knives, and other lethal weapons. Bergit was not aware of the gravity of the spontaneous demonstration and reckless approach of the police. He could not turn to escape but to approach the truck when he saw it from a distance. With greatest dexterity, a police officer was holding the bar behind the truck with his left and his gun in his right hand. He fired twice on the forehead of Bergit, as he approached. His brain oozed out like some rubbish kind of a thing. The watching crowd wailed from a distance and then disorganised. Bergit fell on his file full of papers. Brown ground suddenly turned red. The truck moved a little. ‘Don’t move,’ said a police officer to a secondary school boy frightened by the sound of the gun. He walked to the boy. ‘Stand on your head, you yam,’ he shouted. ‘You’re one of those throwing stones at the police.’ Then, he shot the boy on his belly. His stomach cut into two and his intestines bundled out. The students yelled from a distance and disappeared. In his car, the Divisional Officer drove slowly from behind with two gendarmes guarding him. In front of the municipal hall were placards dropped by the escaping crowd. There were many writings on them: ‘enough is enough,’ ‘the mayor must account for Kamso’s death,’ ‘Why continuous increment in university fees?’ ‘The mayor should be hanged for crimes against humanity,’ ‘Taxes gotten from Southwest petrol should be for local Limbe council than to the capital city,’ ‘God, help your people from the agony of hunger,’ ‘No more destruction of our forest by Europeans,’ ‘China must be fair in trade than free in trade.’ The Divisional Officer climbed down his trendy car and stood looking at the council hall in flames. ‘This is the good works of the opposition.’ said the officer to his assistant and guards. The aged man supported himself with an oak walking stick, appearing like a don of a mafia group. He
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