Ferdinand Oyono

I had become a man — but what sort of man?

The white man had given each of us something to be proud of.

I was a boy, but the white men called me 'boy' as if I was a child.

The sun was setting, and with it, my dreams.

In my heart, I was crying tears of blood.

I knew that I was only a shadow of a man.

Life seemed like a cruel joke played by an unkind God.

The laughter of the white man was like the crack of a whip.

I felt as if I was drowning in a sea of despair.

The silence of the night was filled with the cries of my heart.

We were all prisoners, each in our own way.

Hope was a distant memory, fading with each passing day.