My history with the Historian: Memories.
Sometime around 2001, I observed my father, late Capt. Billy-Eko as he spent hours on end chatting with, as he called him, Zach. I also noticed he would refer to him as Brother Zach, Zachariah, sometimes Mondindi, and to impress on him he would call him Professor. They teased each other endlessly like schoolboys, chatted for hours, whispered to each other as if to say outsiders are not welcome, laughed a lot, and shared stories of their days as youths in Buea town. At times they were a little mischievous. I guess now, that their boyhood days never left them. I remember once telling them that though in their 60’s; they were acting like young adults. They liked the suggestion and laughed even harder.
As I grew up to learn, the complicity in their relationship began with their mothers; Limunga la Motutu for my father, and…Soph’a Mondinde for Uncle Zach. Both happened to be school mates, some time in the 1920’s and lived at some point under the same roof as sisters in Vasingi. My father told me how, as little boys, they made golf clubs out of sticks and actually played at the site of the Buea Municipal stadium which I’m told was a golf course in the 1940’s. To explain the reason for his ingrown left toe nail, he referred me to his buddy Zach who told me, they had made a bell out of a wheel drum, would ring it just before the bugle sounded at the garrison which was located at the site of the present day Buea Market. The cord snapped and it fell on my father’s left toe. These stories abound, as they grew up in Buea with many others such as Mgr. Francis Teke Lysinge, Fred Ngomba Eko, George Eko, Elinge Jeme, George Ekema and many others who are all fathers to me. Their protestant faith did not stop them from getting into
As a kid, with other cousins we played soccer with Aunty Limunga during visits to
Once After a trip to the Adamawa Region where he was carrying research for an upcoming publication, I asked him if I could tag along during his next trip. I had seen colorful photographs of decorated horses and the thought of riding one seemed exciting. He softly replied that research is very serious business. I learned many years on, when by some coincidence he was my Supervisor at the University that my soft spoken Uncle Zach is a no nonsense academician. He was pedantic. It sounded very odd for me to call him Prof. Njeuma as other students did. I stood my ground. I called him Uncle Zach right through. He seemed bemused. I often wondered what he was thinking. I learned from my father that this turn of fate was equally as exciting to him. The defense of my thesis felt somewhat like a family reunion. I wonder if those present, were there for me or for Uncle Zach. One thing I am sure of, he was always there for me. When my father took ill, Zach as he called him, supported him. On the night of my fathers wake keeping in 2003 remembering the stories of their childhood, he asked me to retell these stories to our children. This was the historian in his heart. I desperately wish I could be by Aunty Limunga, Embelle and Christine to perpetuate this much cherished historical tradition.
Junior.
John Billy Eko Junior.
AmbacamTokyo, Japan