If the custodians of culture in Fako were women, no other word would more accurately describe their conduct on May 20 than Akwaras—the Pidgin English term for harlots. For that is exactly what they have become: traders of dignity for petty favors; betrayers of the throne for crumbs thrown at them by colonial masters. Their appearance at Cameroon’s so-called “National Day” parade, clad in their wrappers and shuffling like schoolboys under orders from an occupation authority, stands as the most disgraceful chapter in the annals of traditional rule in Ambazonia.
Let me state it plainly: there was no dignity in that march. There was no honor. It was an open auction of ancestral pride. But before they even matched in public disgrace, the path to that humiliation had already been paved by a cowardly display of sycophancy behind the scenes.
The colonial Divisional Officer (D.O.) for Fako had issued a threatening directive, warning the chiefs that failing to march on May 20 would bring consequences—he spoke of “discipline,” a term laced with colonial arrogance and insult. In times past, such a threat would have met the swift resistance of leaders grounded in culture, rooted in history, and beholden to the people, not the regime.
Instead, Atem Ebako, President of the South West House of Chiefs, responded with a feeble, almost apologetic rebuke of the D.O.’s statement. His response was not one of outrage, not a rallying cry against colonial audacity, but a perfunctory press release that seemed more concerned with saving face than defending principle. And even that hollow attempt was undercut days later when a splinter group of chiefs issued a contradictory statement, distancing themselves from Atem Ebako and eagerly pledging allegiance to the very forces that had shamed them.
This is why communities are seething with rage. It is not just the act of marching; it is what it symbolized—the desecration of tradition, the mockery of cultural authority, and the cheapening of what used to be a revered institution. It is not just betrayal—it is cultural (akwara), prostitution.
Once upon a time, when traditional rulers entered ceremonial grounds, they were treated as royalty. The people rose in their presence. Dance groups erupted in celebration of their arrival. Their words commanded attention, and their presence, reverence. In those days, they were the embodiment of ancestral wisdom, custodians of land and lineage.
But now? They are errand boys. They marched not as men of honor but as pawns, prodded into public view to entertain and affirm colonial dominance. Gone was the dignity. In its place, a procession of self-humiliated men in wrappers, desperate for validation from the very regime that has been the architect of their people’s oppression.
If there was ever a moment that captured how far the institution of traditional rule in Fako has fallen, this was it.
Let me ask: would this have happened in the French-speaking regions of Cameroon? Certainly not. In Bafoussam, the appearance of a traditional ruler at a similar occasion drew the entire grandstand to its feet. The administrators rose to welcome his majesty. The display was one of mutual respect and cultural affirmation.
Why is it then that only Ambazonian chiefs—only Southern Cameroonian traditional rulers—are treated like footstools? Why are they ordered to march, threatened with consequences, and mocked for their obedience?
The answer is simple: because they allow it. They have accepted bribes in the form of political appointments, envelopes of cash, and empty favors. They have bowed—not to the gods of their ancestors, but to the colonial governors in Buea and Bamenda. They have traded the honor of their thrones for access to the banquet of tyrants. What courage they lack, they attempt to mask with fragile titles and fancy robes, while their people suffer under the boots of occupation.
And it is precisely for this reason that they must be stripped of those titles.
Ambazonians, home and abroad, are to henceforth disregard the authority of any chief in Fako who took part in the May 20 parade. These men no longer represent tradition. They no longer serve the people. They have aligned themselves with the enemy of the liberation. They should be known not as chiefs, but as Akwaras—for what they have done is the cultural equivalent of prostitution.
From this day, they must not be allowed to perform any traditional role in the communities. They must not be called to preside over births, deaths, marriages, or land disputes. They must not sit at the table of elders. Until they issue a public apology to the Ambazonian nation, they must be treated as outcasts—enablers of colonization, collaborators of oppression.
Some will argue that they were forced. That they had no choice. But this is a lie.
If some chiefs had the courage to defy the D.O.’s threats and stayed home, then what excuse do the rest have? The truth is they were not forced—they were enticed. They were bought off with cash, with favor, with the seductive illusion of relevance. Like Akwaras, they sold themselves cheap. They did not walk in that parade because they had to—they walked because they chose to.
Let no one forget the broader context of this farce. The whole point of the May 20 humiliation was to send a message to Ambazonians: ‘You have no power, no culture, and no future outside of Cameroon.’ The colonial administrators wanted to display their dominion, not just politically, but symbolically. And they chose to do it by weaponizing the very people who were supposed to embody our resistance—our chiefs.
That’s why this cannot pass without consequences.
This moment must serve as a wake-up call to every man and woman who still believes in the dream of a free Ambazonia. If we needed proof that the colonial regime will stop at nothing to erase our identity, this is it. If we needed proof that our traditional institutions have been hijacked, hollowed out, and converted into tools of subjugation—this is it.
So what must be done?
Ambazonians must reject the false legitimacy of collaborators. We must rebuild from the ground up. True community leadership must now come from men and women with the courage to resist, not the cowardice to comply. We must support grassroots resistance, elevate the voices of those who refuse to bow, and remind the world that our dignity is not for sale.
We must rise with the fire of those who have nothing left to lose. We must stand up to the colonial regime in every village, every city, every diaspora community. We must expose every act of collaboration, shame every betrayal, and defend every act of resistance. This is not just about tradition—it is about our national soul.
To every Fako chief who chose humiliation over honor, you no longer lead us. You no longer speak for us. You no longer deserve our respect. Until you return to the path of truth, until you bow not to the governor but to the will of the people, you remain what you have shown yourselves to be—Akwaras of the throne.
Every time you sight a Fako Chief, know that you have seen an Akwara – a prostitute.
