The Plagues of Friendship
by
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"I will hang high and short, all the Bembers and Ngarbels of this world," I declared as I entered my friend Naïnlaou's house at Moundou, on the very afternoon I received that damning letter from my ex-friend Ngarbel. "Well, you may hang whomever you want, if you have the guts to do so, but please do not do it in front of my house. Confused people may not understand the difference," said Naïnlaou laughingly, throwing his head behind him and showing his protruding Adam's apple as he tried to pump up my spirits. That is what is good with Naïnlaou, no matter how tense or grave a situation or problem may be, he would first make a joke out of it, playing it down, changing the mood before it was blown out of proportion. Then we'd simmer down and reconsider the whole thing anew. He made me laugh in spite of myself. I'm getting off track. Let me continue. For reasons known only to a privileged few, the city of Moundou was partitioned into three subdivisions: Johannesbourg for the Europeans, big factories and the well off local staff who work there. Pretoria was reserved for the Administrative Center, multinational corporations and middle class citizens. Don't let me forget the market with the big cinema house. It's a matter of local pride. At long last they had something the rich folks didn't have. Soweto was reserved exclusively for the common people. Naïnlaou was definitely Pretoria material, middle class and proud of it. Perhaps I ought to refine that statement. We all aspired to become established members of the middle class. For most of us, there was no choice. Our families were dirt poor and we were the only hope for the future. It's a heavy responsibility to hang upon the shoulders of children, for we were just that. We may have had the physical stature of adults, but our minds were still immature when we commenced acculturation to the european ways sat the foreign school. Naïnlaou directed me to the armchair. Dejected, I sank into the wide green seat and stretched my long legs under the coffee table. My right elbow on one of the arms of the seat, my head held with my right hand à la Thinker. I breathed a deep sigh and quoted Sembène Ousmane, the Senegalese writer, in an effort to share my misery. "I am going to 'put on the skin of the hyena', because only cheating and lies are true. Honesty is a crime." Naïnlaou knew he was in for an earful. Like a true friend, he had the patience to listen. "Do you have a point? if so, why don't you make it clear?" "A point? How about ten points?" I was working myself into a tongue-tied rage. "Where do you want me to begin? With Bember, Ngarbel or life in general?" I was mad at Bember, my third cousin, on the one hand and was once again ticked off at Ngarbel, on the other. Status quo. "Whenever I want to contribute, to share my views, to help other people, something always happens. Now you're going to ask if I ever learn from my mistakes. Don't look at me that way." Naïnlaou looked straight at me, sighed, and commented, "You've been complaining about the same stuff ever since I first met you. The only thing that changes is the age of the players." "Not true! The players themselves change and their corruptions become more evil with time. I'm caught in the middle through no fault of my own." "More strange things happen to you than to anyone I've ever known. Maybe that's why you're so interesting. You usually have a good story to tell. What's it gonna be today? I'm ready to listen." I took a deep breath and got back on track. "When will I cease to be the target? I try to do the right thing and invariably do wrong. Well, not every single time. But I have had more than my share of disappointments. Yes, I've been blessed with some good times, too. Everybody wants to be free to do whatever they want. We all want to be happy and make merry once in a while in our lives. I long for the same. Why should I be denied the opportunity? Why does other people's merry direct my face into the dirt? I'm sorry Naïnlaou, I'm getting carried away." I controlled my emotions and continued. "You may wonder why I'm rehashing old news, but it's come back to haunt me. I'd sure like it if the past was to stay buried, but it's staring me in the face. I'll tell about Ngarbel first." "Our relationship goes back to high school, then picks up in 1981 when I was assigned to a new job in Accra. Ngarbel and I get along to a limited extent, but best buddies we're not. He respects me for my intelligence and that's about it. I respect his bullying. Circumstances have forced us to be closer friends than either one of us would have preferred, given a choice." "Our mutual relationship picked up again when he asked me to keep his three children (two girls and one boy) with my family for a time, pending their exams. The children made life difficult for my family and me. They weren't used to our ways and us. They wouldn't co-operate with our family rules. I spoke of their behavior difficulties with Ngarbel in a calm but friendly tone, after which I was going to politely tell him what to do to host his brood. He never liked criticism of any sort, he still doesn't. Right away, it was my fault. 'I didn't love them enough', he said, for if I did, I would not describe their misbehavior so bluntly but would've been more 'diplomatic.' Thus, our long term friendship went down the tubes again. This time, Ngarbel has the power to get even with more than just words. He apparently has the authority to threaten my job. When he was in Ghana he cultivated alliances. There are all kinds of ways he can make life tough for me. This is so childish. When is he going to realize he doesn't always have to have the last word. I tried to be good to his kids, but they're awful. Just when I thought he wasn't able to annoy me any more, he's back in my life like a thunderbolt." "Why did you let him back in?" Naïnlaou asked. "If he has caused so much trouble in the past, why wouldn't he continue? The past is the best predictor of the future. Remember that the next time he wants to talk to you. Slam the phone on him. Tell him you're on an extended vacation. Have your wife tell him you died. No, just joking." I removed the letter from my pocket, wanting to crumple it in my fist and handed it to Naïnlaou. "I received it this morning from Ngarbel. To sum it up: he's right, I'm wrong. So what else is new? Now he's going after my family. After all these years, I let his magnetic personality manipulate me into serving his needs. This is the thanks I get. Regret has taught me a lasting lesson!" "When you read it, read between the lines. He was always good at saying one thing and meaning another. Master of disguised threats is an appropriate title." Even before he read the letter, Naïnlaou realized I needed to calm down. "Cool down Njeleulem, there is nothing under the sun that cannot be dealt with." Composed as usual, he perused the letter, his expression becoming more serious. Dear Njéleulem, Why do I have to write you this present letter? It is, I think, to tell you that I should give up on yo
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About the Book
While untold hardship and plagues affect the villagers in the remotest of rural areas, the culture of the West mingles unevenly with the indigenous African culture to brew its own special brand of pestilence. The human desire for riches and advancement clashes with traditional rites and taboos, to simmer in a rich steamy pot of betrayal and intrigue. Njeleulem is an introvert. He values friendship. He has a high standard of ethics. He holds steadfastly to his communal beliefs. His friends mistake his integrity for cowardice and weakness. Aware that yesterday’s friends have decayed into today’s scoffers, he reacts with confusion and bitterness. Ngarbel, the first friend to betray him, places impediments in Njeleulem’s path at every opportunity during their parallel careers. The two, once good school friends, face each other in deep hostility from their positions as top managers for powerful organizations. Njeleulem’s harsh childhood shapes his personality and eventually, his ruin. Ngarbel is rude and aggressive to the core, much like his volatile father. This fictional story ends with Njeleulem’s suicide. The pressures on him have become too much to bear for one so sensitive and moral. His ultimate retaliation consists of inducing heartfelt remorse in Ngarbel, who went insane and had his wife Dembede leave him as a result.
About the Author
Sem Miantoloum Beasnael was born in Doba Chad, on December 16, 1948. Child of four villages, he hailed from Béladjia, Mbikou, Komé and Donia, his parents’ villages. He was educated in the Primary and Public schools of Bébédjia and Moundou. Trained as a High School Teacher, he graduated from the Teachers college (University of Brazzaville, Congo in 1973.) Back to Chad, he taught African Literature, French and English at the Evangelical High School of N’djamena. He pursued his Higher Education in N’djamena and upon graduation, taught English at the School of Law (University of Chad). Due to civil war, he moved to Moundou where he became the Head of Personnel, at the Tobacco Factories (MCT), and at the same period, taught African Literature at the Moundou Polytechnics (Lycée Technique Commercial). From 1981 through 1989, he was appointed Program Officer, in charge of the Inter-African Scholarship Program, at the Association of African University (AAU) in Ghana. He used his free moments to pursue Post graduated studies in the Department of African studies at Legon/Accra (University of Ghana). He also studied at the Ghana Institute of Management and Public Administration (GIMPA) where he graduated in 1989. He was at the same time member of the Council of Elders of Ridge Church of Accra, Ghana. In Fall 1989, he went to the Dallas Theological Seminary (USA) where he graduated in Spring 1994. While studying there, he registered at the Writer's Digest School, at Cincinnati (Ohio). He graduated from the WDS in 1995 as a novel writer. He published several articles on African culture in The African Herald, a Dallas based Newspaper. Radio KRA invited him for a live debate about his eye-opening articles. He also taught African Literature and culture at the University of Texas in Dallas (UTD). At the same time, he taught French, Philosophy and History-Geography at the Dallas International School and worked part-time with Federal Express as Team Leader. Beasnael who initiated the foundation of the Evangelical University of Chad, now owned by the Fellowship of Evangelical churches and Missions in Chad (EEMET), is now a Missionary, Dean of Agricultural and Animal Husbandry Institute in Moundou, Chad. Africa.