From his shadow to his darkness. Story of a downfall

Desolately, the rest of the trip before reaching Waloua was very much more disappointing regarding this surprising start; it came as a poignant confirmation of my multiple apprehensions. Just some yards after the tax office, the juicy paradise was disappearing and replaced by a dark and pathetic picture before us. Everything was sorrowful; the indication plate that welcomed people was a sufficient sign of poverty and desperation. After all these years, the place still looked like a war zone, think Syria or Libya. The atmosphere was terrorizing as if we were in a haunted house with demons everywhere. I felt like one of those crazy reporters ready to risk their lives for professional motivations in hostile territory, so enthusiastic in their job that they finally become mad enough to accept anything.

How could they live in this misery? Poverty was running all over! Even basic things were lacking; how were they able to survive? Why all this treatment from the rest of the country? Why was the government so silent about that? It is a shame that even after all these years, many of us still considered these people as rebel supporters. Leaving them with no resources to live. Treating them with no mercy as the most hated enemies ever. We will all have to respond to this injustice one day.

It took me a long time before reconnecting my head to the mission I was assigned to do; I had never felt so pained. But as I was now trying to move over and start thinking about the first people to meet in the village, I saw a group of about ten young men coming right at our car with hostile and unsympathetic looks. And when I looked in the car to see the reaction of my bodyguards, I saw tension burning in their eyes and anger all over their body language. Their muscles were already tightening up, the rage was dominant on their faces, and their fists were clenched ready to destroy their opponents. Just some seconds later, as I was looking back at those young guys to convince myself they were not that hostile, I heard the backseat door opening and subsequently; I realized one of the gendarmes was already out and was facing the youth with his gun pointed at them and ready to kill.

“Where do you think you are, man? We’re in Waloua here man! Go ahead! Shoot! You will have to kill the entire village, man!” One of the guys said with confidence, he seemed to be their leader from the way he was behaving. Tension made him uglier in my eyes. Surely, his domination on the member of his gang was due to his hideous face because he was the least portly in the group, plus he was as small as a teenager and not really charismatic.

An insecure silence took place after his word. All the challengers were exchanging aggressive looks, gazing at each other face-to-face like in a cowboy movie, a scene that could be cast in the good, the bad, the ugly western movie, with me as the “good,” the gendarmes as “the bad,” and the youth leader as “the ugly”. A little voice in my head advised me to do something before things turn into carnage. With this high tension in the atmosphere, the gendarmes were at the point of shooting those idiots who wielded simple machetes as weapons. I needed to intervene and avoid press titles and international community blames, as they are always ready to blame and accuse African’s governments sometimes without embarrassing themselves of verifying and investigating.

So I suppressed my fears, opened the car door, and addressed the gendarmes in the most polite manner possible:

“Hey guys, it’s ok, put your guns down. Let’s discuss with them, ok?”

After clearly showing their discontent via body language, they finally obeyed. None of them would have felt guilty after shooting and punishing those miserable hooligans.

“Hey! My name is Paul Endenne. I work for the Minister of National Education, and we are here for the charity event organized by the Minister himself for the benefit of your village’s public school. Please, just allow us to carry on with our duty…” I told the youths in an imploring manner.

Strangely, they took my gentle manners as an insult to their authority and started staring at me with disrespect. For them, I was not fearful enough and was too confident as if they could not do anything wrong to me. This was just the normal and predictable conclusion one could expect from terrorist like them since they were used to fear and fright from visitors. As a matter of fact, if a stranger did not kneel before them, it meant he was not afraid or he was impolite. If they could only see inside my brain, they would have realized I was far away from the self-control displayed in my attitude. In fact, I had never been so terrorized.

“Charity event?” One of them asked.

“Yeah, charity event, idiot!” Another one replied.

Then the entire group started a conversation in their local tongue. Despite my knowledge of most of the dialects in our country, I couldn’t get any word from what they were discussing. While I was patiently and calmly waiting for them to address us, the gendarmes were getting more nervous than ever before, still ready to fight, carrying their guns, and staring at the group with much enmity.

“Alright, alright, you people can continue to the village, but we are doing this because you are with Mister Agbwala. If this would have not been the case, you know what would have happened…” The claimed leader said two minutes after the beginning of their conclave.

After this conclusion, the entire group moved out of the road synchronically. Rage was still full on the gendarmes’ faces as they returned to the car. This conclusion was just another disrespect for them, insolence men like them could not tolerate knowing how people usually treated them and punishment they gave to this type of thugs in the past. Even though I was as annoyed as they were, sometimes, it is better not to respond to aggression with violence but to peacefully discuss with these hooligans. Gracefully, we arrived at the center of the city with no other incident.

When we reached the school, I met with the principal first but unfortunately, I couldn’t find her in her office. On my way back to the car a few seconds later, as I was walking across the school courtyard, I had the genuine idea to find about where she could be from a young man who was selling cigarettes. He pointed her as she was discussing with some kids on the opposite side of the courtyard. It shocked me to discover how beautiful she was. My head was full of clichés before I met her. I was expecting to see a woman with dry skin and heavy spectacles, cold personality, and unsympathetic. She was just the opposite; gracious, attractive on her high heels and long hair. This was the tempting beauty men usually chase all their life not only for marriage. She had an average height, dark-skinned, and a round pretty face with sensual lips covered in red lipstick. Sublime in the African gown she was wearing, more like a Ghanaian gown, her entire person was buzzing off an amazing freshness capable of provoking addictions and admiration like one of the most splendid Michel-Ange work of art. It had been so difficult for me to stay focused on our discussion without contemplating her face. Her gorgeousness absorbed my entire person like Indian air does to cobra. Apart from my eyes, nothing else functioned. I turned deaf, I couldn’t even hear her name. But the sudden irritation in her facial expression surprised me and pushed me back on the right track. As I started listening to her with more attention, I rapidly felt her involvement in the community; her frowning face was putting more intensity to her speech, complaints after complaints were continuously running out of her mouth with sincerity and passion. After delighting me, she now put me in deep melancholy. The saddest part was that I wasn’t the solution to most of the problems she was narrating, so all I could do was listen with commiseration.

Our conversation ended when she left for the chief’s house, leaving me with sadness in my heart not only because of the difficulties she expressed to me but also because of her gracious person leaving, replaced by this old man, a less sympathetic individual with an old school manner. A quick look at him made him a sexagenarian in my eyes, I didn’t need to see this picture of him with a military uniform on the wall to conclude he was surely a veteran. The direct opposite of the principal, the man caught my attention quick; his first words were full of charisma and power before he asked me:

“Mister Paul! Tell me! For you, what’s the reason for this charity event?”

“Sir, you know Mister Agbwala is a very generous person. Plus, you know he is…”

“Exactly!!!” He shouted. Many people here are accusing him of having a hidden agenda of using this region for his political ambition. That’s bullshit. I know him! And I know he is a man with a lot of compassion and concern for every citizen of this country. He has a good heart, unlike most of his colleagues. You know, after twenty years, they still consider us as traitors, as outcasts, but most of us have never been in any way associated with the rebels. It’s unfair that today, we are suffering because of that. Even basic needs, we cannot fulfill, no light, no current water! Why will the youths not turn bandits?”

Expressing the poverty in his village and the injustice his people were suffering for many years, ignited anger in him as if he was just from noticing those inequalities. Knowing that I could not do anything to change this situation sooner and that I was actually working for the government that was oppressing them, I decided to remain quiet and showed him some compassion with my attitude. No word could have calmed his bitterness. After spitting his fury for about five long minutes with me listening attentively, he remained silent for some seconds as if he was trying to rest after a serious effort. Then he took his phone and made a call. As soon as he finished the phone call in which the conversation was in the same dialect as that of those thugs at the periphery of the village, he looks intently at me and said:

“Son, I just had one of my guys on the phone. Go back to school; he and his friends will help you.”

“Oh, thank you very much, sir,” I responded a little embarrassed.

To say the truth, I wasn’t expecting nor desiring any help; even though I appreciated his affability, looking at the task we were about to do, any assistance other than that of my colleagues seemed useless. But my estimation of the workers needed was totally inexact. I found myself mentally thanking him more sincerely when we faced the issue of transportation of plastic chairs and tarps. We could not have finished installing all the equipment required for the event without these young people’s help. I was so pleased by their enthusiasm while helping us. They showed us a better image of the youths of this region by behaving friendly and far different than those bandits who wanted to aggress us when we arrived.

Two hours later, everything was ready before the entire regional establishment arrived. We could now rest a little before the beginning of the ceremony. As I patiently waited for the arrival of the minister and my other colleagues, I noticed that at forty minutes before the commencement; the place was still empty; that was a very bad situation. Knowing that all this was also organized to show the love mister minister benefited all over the country, even in the regions known for their detestation towards the regime, poor attendance would have sounded like a defeat. In this particular period where he was facing so many issues, the press would have not hesitated to take that as an advantage and turn it as the ultimate demonstration of his downfall. Even though the popularity of my boss was an acknowledged fact, I couldn’t be a hundred percent confident about the success of the event with all the bad luck that has been chasing him for the past three months. That’s why I anxiously prayed to see the crowd coming. Sometime later, the small number of people attending was turning into a crowd; and ten minutes before the official opening of the event, a large crowd was present and ready to welcome mister minister. The entire village was present; no single member of the regional establishment was absent. The ambiance was jovial, cadenced by drums, people were shaking and giggling their bodies before a group of kids demonstrated a delighting ballet that they surely prepared for months. The excitement was all over. The national television channel was also present to capture everything during the ceremony as Mister Minister required from its general manager, a special team for that purpose.

Everybody was now patiently waiting for the main person of the occasion. The wait didn’t last long. At exactly four o’clock, a black Mercedes emerged in front of a convoy of about ten vehicles from the same standard. Then two minutes later, Mister Agbwala’s team of security guards, three tall guys wearing black from head to toe, speaking on their small earpieces with a lot of focus, moved out of his Volkswagen before opening the backdoor of the car. Subsequently, the Minister came out of the luxurious automobile with his usual and notorious classiness; he was in a stylish grey suit, designed black sunglasses, working on a red carpet in an astonishing allure. The whole crowd went into a noisy fervor after his salutations, displayed a remarkable passion who sounded like a proof of his undeniable popularity despite all the denigrations on him since the last three months. He was still their hero, the one who had always defended them and assisted them no matter their political point of view. These cheers from this village were what we came for. Capturing an image of people from an acknowledged hostile region celebrating their champion, showing him love, was an amazing element we could use for propaganda.

A gorgeous little girl came to welcome him with a bunch of flowers, and then he made an outstanding speech that ended with a standing ovation from the crowd. He insisted in his speech on the need for everyone in the nation to come together and to forget the past. He called the authority to come and assist the population of Waloua and encouraged the youths of the region to continue to work hard and progress. He couldn’t end his propos without adding some propaganda for him and his party, which was a normal move from an established politician like himself. After that, the main part of the ceremony came when he officially handed his donation to the principal of the school. The lady received with a large smile, the ten computers and four new generation printers he offered. Her joy was so extreme that she could not hold herself to express it with a funny dance move that made the entire crowd laugh as if we were watching a comical show. Some young men just by my side even testified their shock after seeing this usually shy and reserved woman dance like this in public without looking uncomfortable. I was surprised, but, thrilled to see her so content after all the pain she had narrated to me earlier.

This cheerful and pleasant ceremony ended when the regional delegate of the state invited the establishment members of the region and the ministry of education workers to share the buffet with him in a classroom near the principal’s office. The rest of the crowd also had their own collation at the courtyard. I couldn’t eat much, I focused my entire person returning to the city, even though the trip was a success; I had some personal things to do on that same day.

But thirty minutes later, we were still there, impatiently waiting for mister minister to finish this very long discussion he had with the governor. I was complaining in my head about the length of that discussion and bored like never when I heard a voice calling me:

“Paul, Paul come.”

Gracefully, his discussion with the governor had ended and we could now leave. So I hurried to find out why he was calling me with so much excitement. When I came close to him, I was delighted by his first words to me; he knew how to stimulate and thank his workers.

“You did an outstanding job, Paul, I’m proud of you. Just maintain these qualities, in some years, you will become a minister too.”

“Thank you, sir, thank you very much, sir,” I said, grinning. This wasn’t the first time I received these motivational words from him. For me, it had always been a great honor to be acknowledged by such an established person like him.

As I was still seriously enjoying these appreciations, I saw him putting his hand into his right pocket and then pulling out cash. Despite being rich, the amount he displayed shocked me. A second later, he just pointed it at me without even embarrassing himself of counting it and said:

“Take this; distribute it to every single person who assisted you during the equipment installation.”

“But sir, the budget…” I shyly tried to object. For me, it was a little too much even though I appreciated his intentions. But as generous as he was, I couldn’t stop him.

“Do as I say,” he replied quickly without letting me finish my sentence, “you will understand later,” he added.

That was why people loved him so much; he always had the good words, the perfect attitude with people. He was a brilliant mix of charity and charisma. I had a great admiration for his personality and a real desire to resemble him even a little. With my timidity, my agoraphobia, my introversion and my clear lack of charisma, it wasn’t hard to say that I was his opposite. Adding my stinginess to all these characteristics, the list of my faults will be complete.

Thirty minutes later, we were finally on our way back to the capital city. After expecting an eventual new modification in our planning of the day, I was closer to mister minister by traveling back in his car and left my own to one of my subalterns. But twenty minutes later, I started to feel insecure and regretted my choice because of the high speed at which we were traveling. My heartbeat was rising every time we passed near one of those gigantic trucks specialized in wood transportation and frequent user of this highway to assure the connection between the coast and the interior of the country. While I was stressing and trembling because of the dangerous ride of the driver, the others were not showing any sign of alarm, among them, the minister who was even comfortable with this tempo. After praising the driver, he was now absorbed in a phone discussion. I could hear him saying: “my love, yes my love” what made me conclude that he was surely discussing with his wife, Mister Agbwala was a married man with three kids.

After he ended his phone call, he gave an instruction to the security guard at the front seat. Subsequently, the man transmitted the order to the driver before a long silence took place. I was a little frustrated; usually, mister minister will communicate to me this order before everybody. But this time, I had to suffer to be out of the process. Knowing that the main reason I was physically close to him was to know of any information and any modification, I couldn’t feel anything else than dissatisfaction. The only thing I could do was to guess our next stop because, for me, we will surely not go directly to the office. My intuitions were confirmed some minutes later when we arrived at the periphery of the city and the driver took the road going to the business district instead of the left street of the junction. I then concluded that we will surely hold a meeting at a hotel to discuss briefly, our next plan when the driver turned at the city’s main boulevard with his multiple hotels five minutes later. But I couldn’t imagine that our destination will be at the Atlantique hotel, a marvelous place known for its quality of service and architecture and also selective even for those who were not discouraged enough by the elevated prices of the rooms. Even though all this beauty delighted me, the feeling that I had since the marginalization I suffered thirty minutes ago when mister minister kept me away from the information he transmitted to his driver, turned darker immediately we penetrated the five-star hotel. The bad reputation of this place was all over my head. The hotel was not only known for its splendor; many other stories about mysterious cults holding meetings there and organized prostitution occurring in this same place rubbished the image of the “Atlantique” these last years. Adding the fact that mister minister barely came to this hotel in my presence and that we had held no meeting there in the past, it became very difficult for me not to have in mind all those rumors that stated that my boss was a member of a cult and that he also secretly used to come there for his dirty activities. His behavior was not just helping; he had just left us at the hotel hall and went to the elevator with only one bodyguard without telling me anything. I was now troubled; a victim of every kind of dark thoughts, doubts, and mystery always go in pairs, and his actions were mysterious. I couldn’t get these suspicions out of my head, whenever the beauty of the hotel got me absorbed, the length of his absence will subsequently turn back into thoughts.

Gracefully, the wait finally ended and mister Agbwalla impedes my uncertainties and my frustrations subsequently when he asked me to excuse his previous attitude, blaming it on a family emergency. I was so enchanted by the way he presented his excuses I forgot to ask whether the problem he mentioned had finally been solved; he just wowed me by displaying so much humility. What a great man!

Five minutes later, we were moving out of the hotel on our way to the parking lot, when we met with a group of street children; four little boys in a dirty outer shell, they all looked hungry and weary. Their appearance was a clear example of the consequences of poverty in our country. The grimness of their frizzy hair made them look like neglected dogs in the street. Immediately they saw us, they started begging for money. Insistently. Their dirtiness was in perfect dissimilarity with the luxurious environment around them and made their presence turn into a serious proof of the incompetence of the security guards of this hotel. After the minister’s bodyguard noticed that they were a little too close to us, they decided to rudely make them go away. As they were dealing with them, the minister intervened:

“It’s ok, it’s ok, leave them…” he shouted to the bodyguards.

Even though we all knew how generous he was, his reaction was a little too exaggerated, knowing that the guards were only doing their job.

Subsequently, he took the oldest boy of the group apart and started questioning him.

“Tell me, young man, what are you people doing here? He asked gently.

“Our parents are dead sir, I’m with my brothers, we are looking for something to eat, anything to calm our hunger. We used to sell groundnuts and clean people’s shoes when some guys stole our equipment three days ago.”

“Hmmm…” Mister minister reacted before calling one of his bodyguards to give him some instructions.

We could hear the kids shouting out their happiness and expressing their gratitude towards the unexpected benefactor mister Agbwala was. Even though I couldn’t know what mister minister gave them to provoke this spectacular mood change, I was deeply impressed again by his bigheartedness. He was such a charitable man. I would have surely not acted the same. I usually hesitated before giving money to these abandoned children, and this behavior was because of my opinion on the topic. There was an amplification of the number of children in the streets, but all of them were not homeless. Many left their villages to look for a better living in the city. Others were used as a means of income of poor families already living in the city for years but sadly suffering from misery and unemployment. My compassion for those children who lived in the streets with all its dangers and uncertainties was as high as my anger against all the adults who sent them there. And any single person who had the means to change this situation but still didn’t. But the reaction of mister Agbwala came as a huge lesson for me: give first! My mind was now focused on the rest of my day, I needed to develop this kind of generosity and stop calculating all the time.

Later on, when the night arrived, I couldn’t hold myself for not relating to Caroline what happened at the Atlantique and especially on Mister Minister generous and humble actions. But as usual, whenever Mister Agbwala’s name was mentioned, my wife only noted the negative elements of the story. She first started complaining about the danger we faced on our way to Waloua when we encountered a group of thugs. Then also followed the many rumors on Mister Minister’s mysterious spiritual activities when we were discussing on the Atlantique. She even insisted that I should avoid or refuse whenever my boss proposes to go to such places Like many people in the country, she too believed that that hotel was nothing but a dark and dangerous institution. Hopefully, we didn’t argue on this subject much as we usually did when it comes to mister minister and my job.