How I Reacquainted Myself with Hope

Hope is a feeling of expectation and desire for a particular thing to happen. Hope is everywhere and springs eternal! When all fails for patients, we still hope for a quick recovery. A woman crying painfully and loudly from the labor room gives hope for a newborn, after which parents and family hope that they make meaningful contributions to society in the near future.

My relationship with this universal feeling has been mitigated. I was born in Ntumbaw village, Donga-Mantung division in the Northwest Region of Cameroon. I am the second of six children. I grew up with a dream and hope for success and making a positive impact in my family and community through education. However, I lost this hope when tragedy struck. I first met darkness in 2013 when my father passed away. I was twelve. That same year, I took my First School Leaving Certificate (FSLC). Still in primary school, I had to take on the role of man of the house and helped my mother with farming. Four years later, I dropped out of school. After sponsoring six children on an artisanal agriculture income, my mom had reached her financial limit. For the next five years, I did odd jobs to help feed and educate my siblings. I felt like there was no future, no light. The darkness was everywhere.

This was compounded by the ongoing Anglophone crisis. Life became a nightmare and was unbearable. A group of separatists waged a civil war against the government which led to the killing of innocent young men and women including students and teachers. Farmlands and homes like my mother's were burnt to ashes. It was so heartbreaking to see these men, who were part of our communities, resort to kidnappings, beheadings, and other violent acts. They blocked the roads to levy taxes on the already poor communities, and in the process prevented farmers from tending to their crops and students like me from getting an education.

We tried to flee to francophone regions but lacked the funds for transportation and taxes by separatists. I cried all day long, reminiscing about the time when my father was still there. My mom cried too. She felt she had failed me and I felt I had failed her - falling short of my dad, the real man of the house.

True to herself, my mom managed to find a solution to an impossible situation. She borrowed money so I could travel to Bamenda, the capital of the North West Region, a place I had never been to before. There, I worked in farms, construction, and as a household. I was able to cater to my basic needs and tuition for evening classes.

Fortunately, against significant odds, I passed my GCE Ordinary Level certificate with eight papers out of the nine I took. I was happy for a moment. Then I remembered I needed money for high school. The burden was too large - the thought of going through this experience once again scared me. I got so discouraged, especially after noticing my former classmates were already university graduates, while I was still in high school.

Out of the darkness came the light. A newfound hope! I had forgotten what it felt like to hope and dream at this point. A link was forwarded to me by a friend. The Jumbam Family Foundation was offering scholarships for people in my situation. I applied and was one of only five candidates selected for this scholarship. I was so delighted to receive this news.

Thanks to the scholarship, I began high school at Montessori English Secondary and High School in Santchou, West Region. My newfound hope rekindled a childhood dream: becoming a cardiac surgeon. My mother was elated when she heard this. For the first time in a decade, I can finally put a smile on my mother’s face and the community as they have long wished since the day I was born especially those who had a similar experience of the war like me, but never had the chance at a new beginning as I did. Thank you Joumbam Family Foundation for this great opportunity and for restoring our hope indeed.