Every morning, I took public transportation from my ghetto and crossed the entire city to reach the richest neighborhood where my high school was located. In the evening after classes, I made the same journey in reverse to return to the ghetto. I realized that I was always happy to leave home in the morning, but always sad when I had to return in the evening. During my trips back and forth, I spent my time contemplating the different landscapes the vehicle passed through, and I reflected on the social and financial differences they represented.

On the way to high school, we started from wooden or semi-permanent houses, then crossed into permanent houses before reaching luxurious villas and buildings. The further the vehicle went, the more my heart filled with joy. However, this joy gradually decreased on the way back to the ghetto. As I made this journey, the sadness I felt transformed into frustration. I began to tell myself: “I must leave this ghetto forever.” I didn’t know how it would happen because no one left the ghetto without returning after a few months.

Rumors circulated that the neighborhood’s sorcerers kept the residents in place. When someone left the neighborhood to settle elsewhere, these sorcerers would gather and combine their forces to bring that person back to the neighborhood. My heart was so filled with images of beautiful houses and neighborhoods that there was no room left for fear of the sorcerers.

From then on, I knew I was going to leave the ghetto and nothing could bring me back.

My high school friends are all rich, and they think I am too.

At high school, I quickly made deep friendships. My parents had taught me from a young age to love and value everyone. This education allowed me to develop extraordinary social values, which always facilitated my integration into all communities. I easily made a good impression with my politeness, humility, and authenticity, which put my interlocutors at ease and allowed them to welcome me more favorably.

That’s how on my first day at high school, I befriended a charming classmate named Stephanie. At the end of classes, while most were waiting for their drivers, the students were all gathered in front of the main entrance of the high school. Jean-Philippe, the son of an influential businessman in the country, approached me and asked me to introduce him to Stephanie because he wanted to court her and had noticed that I got along well with her. I was very happy and honored to be able to do this favor for Jean-Philippe because it was an opportunity for me to become a special friend of a rich man’s son.

So, I approached Stephanie to talk to her about Jean-Philippe and his intentions to get to know her. Stephanie let me know that she was not interested in this friendship at all and that Jean-Philippe should not talk to me about her anymore. Stephanie’s reaction shocked me because I couldn’t imagine a girl refusing the advances of a rich man’s son.

In my ghetto, girls were ready to leave their husbands and children to follow a financially stable person. When a Mercedes 500 came to pick up Stephanie a few minutes later, I understood that she was also a rich girl. Stephanie’s father was the head of several large companies. I had just made two exceptional friends on the first day of class. A week later, Stephanie organized a party at her parents’ home for her birthday and invited me. Being invited to this party significantly increased my popularity; many concluded that I was certainly the son of a rich man.

On the day of the party, I borrowed decent clothes from a friend in the ghetto whose older brother lived in France. He was the only friend in the ghetto who had new clothes that his brother often sent him. He lent me a T-shirt and jeans. I wore my older brother Boniface’s loafers and used the Paco Rabanne perfume of one of my neighbors. I then took a taxi to Bonapriso, the richest neighborhood in Douala.

Once I arrived at Stephanie’s, I was amazed by the size and beauty of her parents’ house. Their parking lot had four luxury cars, including two Mercedes 500s. A swimming pool, which I estimated to be thirty meters long, was in the center of the garden. I was highly impressed by the splendor and luxury I discovered around me in this house. But I couldn’t show my amazement.

No one should know that I was seeing these things for the first time. I preferred that everyone thought I was a rich man’s son. All my friends lived in rich neighborhoods and enjoyed great comfort. Unlike the residents of the ghetto, they were very polite, courteous, attentive, generous, and sensitive. My friends came to school in luxury cars driven by chauffeurs.

During the holidays, they traveled by plane to Western countries. They regularly invited me to the parties they organized in their mega-villas. I also attended their multiple pool parties as a guest of honor…

This text is an excerpt from the book “From the Ghetto to the Bar” written by Dominique MBOG.

We invite you to read the following article “Studies“.

Poverty. Poverty.