If ever there was a man so strict, self-confident, God-fearing, but also human, in representing his people, as far as I know, it was Akamentso Tening Mongwa. And, I think of him affirmatively as a man of many firsts for me, although sadly, I never told him this: One of the mythical names in Pinyin as I grew up, and saw him only in flashes whenever he came home and attended the local church in Konghefune; his voice was the first through which I heard a digitized version of the Pinyin language around the mid-1970s on a 33-inch plate playing in the famous Farmers’ Bar at Mitanyen; his intervention made it possible for me to use the telephone for the first time in the late 1980s; and I was humbled when he invited Destyne and I for meal... Naturally, he was the first Pinyinman who inspired me to become a writer, after I read To My Son, As You Leave Home; and will go on to contact me to proof some of his writings. As host of PDO Yaounde meetings when we were at the University, one could not help but be infected by his love for the Pinyin Clan of which he spoke as passionately as he was dedicated to its state of health, so to speak, and inspired us with a sense of commitment to Clan matters. Meticulous almost to a fault, Akamentso would prefer to contract a foreigner who could do a good job rather than surrender to the sentimentality of filial or tribal connections only to bemoan a poor finishing in the end. Akamentso Mongwa’s obsession with the development of our composite quarter (Mamben, Asu, Konghefune—Makong): it is not only his moderate compound in Konghefune and the edifice at Asu, but also his lone effort to pipe water from Mben, his very generous contribution to the Makong water project in 2019, and, before then, his more than 50% contribution to the realization of the Makong Presbyterian church. In many ways, he was a technician, and PDO Yaounde members who remember the process leading up to the purchase of the Clan House on the Nkolbikok slope in Yaounde will agree with me that beyond his intervention to purchase the premises at a give-away price, he was instrumental in shaping it. A practical man who knew his roots, Akamentso Mongwa attended Makong meetings in Yaounde, whenever possible, and never failed in his role as adviser on diverse topics. Even his handshake was a health-check on those who were fortunate to suffer it, for it was no mere how-do-you-do formality, but a firm grip, slightly tilting the greetee’s arm upward while shaking it in vigorous flexes, and in his majestic, confident, and near-stuttering voice will inquire: “azela-li, Taa? Mbengmi ze shihne, ame?” He also knew how to feign anger (that you’ve abandoned him, for instance) as a means of solidifying the friendship during such rituals of handshake. And of course, his life-long dedication to the future of the Pinyin language made it possible for us to meet for the last time, when he invited Prof Nkwetisama and I to his Ntahmulung residence and while we uncorked our bottles in his study, he actually lectured us on the phonetics of Pinyin as distinguished from those of other languages. Such a man already missed, so humble to the point of referring to every child as “iyeuh” or “dou”, but also a veritable Akamentso burdened by a sense of communal good, and whose transition can only be immortalized by our commitment to fulfilling what he cherished most—Pinyin and all what that land and its worldview stand for, as inscribed in his own word: “Pinyin ambyie!”
top of page
bottom of page