Music, language and human rights in Cameroon

INTRODUCTION
Orature as an academic discipline and tool of resistance has made giant strides in its evolution over the years. This transformation manifests itself in the form of musical productivity and scholarship on the subject matter. Among those who have contributed significantly to emerging perspectives on the discipline are musicians themselves. Cameroonian songwriters are township bards who double as entertainers and freedom fighters. Orality is the tool they wield with dexterity in their relentless vendetta against the establishment’s endemic corruption, bad governance, abuse of power, influence peddling, impunity, misappropriation of public funds and other forms of dereliction of duty that plague the post-colony. The lyrics of Donny Elwood, and Valsero a.k.a ‘Le Général’ and Lapiro de Mbanga alias Ndinga Man are telling. This trio has carved out a niche for themselves as valiant human rights activists in Cameroon.

VOICES OF ELWOOD, VALSERO AND LAPIRO
In a song titled ‘Mon cousin militaire’ [1], Donny Elwood deplores two cankers that have rendered the government of Cameroon dysfunctional, namely influence peddling and corruption. Listen to his lyrics:

'Thank Goodness I have a soldier cousin
Thank God I have a soldier cousin
I would be at the cemetery already
Two meters in the ground
Poor cadaver, simple skeleton
Smiling like all skeletons on this earth
Who never stop smiling
The smile of death
Death caused by misery
Misery that is the lot of the poor and the macabre
They call me Mr. Trouble
They call me Uncle Misery
I live in a ghetto
And we are real proletariats
In need of food, clothes, and money
We are veritable proletariats
We are in the majority on this earth
Thank Goodness I have a soldier cousin (…)
When he earns his salary, he gives me some money for beer.
I jump into my jalopy
And we roam the streets all night (...)
When he goes to war
I say my prayers
I say austerity prayers
A bad war,
A border war,
An inflammatory war,
A deadly war
A suicidal war (…)' [2]

The lyrics of this song are pregnant with meaning. Elwood’s reference to the Cameroonian military is significant. Under President Paul Biya, soldiers have become the most privileged group of people in Cameroonian society. Pampered with bloated salaries and perks, these partially educated servants of the state have nurtured an inordinate sense of their own grandeur. Rather than protect the citizenry, they have taken it upon themselves to brutalize and abuse their compatriots, especially in the event of public protests against the establishment, as was the case during the 2008 youth uprising against the government for failing to put an end to skyrocketing fuel and food prices.
Elwood bemoans the fate of the underprivileged of his country: ‘The smile of death/ Death caused by misery/ Misery that is the lot of the poor and the macabre.’ He speaks for the proletariat, the toiling masses who are subjected to brazen exploitation by the corporate world — owners of means production.

Elwood’s song is the cry of a son of the soil whose heart throbs for his people. Many are living in abject poverty while a few people in government live in opulence. Like Fanon [3] and Zola [4], Elwood, speaks for the downtrodden: the wretched of the earth of his society. He is the voice of the voiceless. ‘Mon cousin militaire’ satirises warmongering. I suppose that the war referenced in this song is the Nigeria-Cameroon conflict over the Bakassi Peninsula, a costly insane war that has no rationale at all.

In sum, Elwood uses his song as a medium through which he articulates his concerns over human rights abuses in his homeland. Language choice and diction pose no problem at all in this song. The artist uses everyday French words and expressions known to the average Cameroonian. Colloquial terms like ‘tonton’ may elude the non-Cameroonian listener but context could be used to unravel the signification of the word. In ‘En haut’ he addresses the themes of influence peddling and corruption in Cameroon, as seen in the following excerpt:

'My life will change
The decree has just landed
My brother has just been appointed to a very high position
Rumor had circulated everywhere in the neighborhood
Today it’s a done deal
The radio talked , talked, talked
The TV has confirmed it.
That’s right, my life will change
At last long, I will breathe.
I will have to behave like a Bao
Given that my brother is now in a position of power
Gone are the days of hunger
Gone are the days of trekking
No more bread sandwiches
No more rides in overloaded taxis.
My life will change.
I shall possess a car
I will visit all the inner cities
In my air-conditioned Mercedes Benz
All the girls will fall head over heels in love with me.
I will be awarded contracts
My brother is highly placed
Even if I cannot deliver the services
for which I have been contracted
My brother will still pay me
My life will change
There will be feasting in the village,
People will come and go,
We will drink
We will eat ( …)' [5]

There is no gainsaying the fact that ‘En haut’ reads like a facsimile of Cameroon under Paul Biya. The cankers that Elwood lambasts in this musical tirade: abuse of power, influence peddling, corruption and nepotism are the common lot of Cameroonians living under this dictator. The songwriter celebrates his brother’s appointment to a top government position because he is certain that his brother will abuse his position to award him contracts even if he is unable to deliver the services for which he will be paid. Not only will he embezzle government money to buy expensive cars for his personal use but he will also use his position to exploit women. This sort of unethical comportment on the part of civil servants is common currency in Cameroon under Paul Biya, who himself is the absentee landlord of Etoudi. Biya spends nearly three-quarters of the year gallivanting in foreign lands in pursuit of nothing. This spells doom for the entire nation.

As far as language is concerned, Elwood borrows extensively from Camfranglais [6] for the purpose of concealing certain significations from Cameroon’s security forces as in the use of ‘bao’ for ‘bigshot’. It should be noted that ‘bao’ is the abbreviated form of baobab. ‘Merco’, is another word culled from Camfranglais. Camfranglophones use this word in reference to a posh car even if it is not of the Mercedez Benz brand. Elwood uses typical Cameroonianisms in his songwriting in a bid to transpose the speech mannerisms of Cameroonian youths into the French language. Recourse to Camfranglais does not only taint Elwood’s music with local colour and flavour, but it also serves as an identity marker. Camfranglais is a slang meant to be understood only by initiated members of certain social groups: conmen, drug-peddlers, prostitutes, cabdrivers and more.

Elwood is not a lone voice in the vendetta against the cancerous society that Cameroon has become under Biya’s regime. In a song titled ‘Ce pays tue les jeunes’[7] Valsero bemoans the fate of Cameroon’s lost generation — the young college and high school graduates whose future has been mortgaged by the Biya kleptocracy[8] headquartered in Yaoundé:

'For the sake of 2008 I speak to myself
For 2008 I speak to you
I hope all is well with you
And I hope that good tidings will come your way (…)
All these graduates who are jobless
This generation that will never see the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel
In any event, I don’t believe they ever will
The youths are dying slowly
Whereas the old folks are getting
Drunk in their bunkers
This county kills its youths
Fifty years in power
And yet they will not relinquish power peacefully
Life is too tough
The system makes it even tougher.
They experience it
In Yaoundé, they know it.
This county kills its youths
This country is like a time-bomb
For the dying youths
Watch out, when it shall explode,
It shall destroy everyone
So, I am asking the older generation
To make way for the youths
Let’s avoid flames
This county kills its youths.
The old folks will not relinquish power peacefully (…)'[9]

Valsero’s lyrics are fiery. As I see it, his words are forebodings of tough times ahead. He is unapologetic in his opprobrium on a regime that destroys its own youths. In fact, this is the leitmotiv in Valsero’s song of protest. Notice the songwriter’s deliberate repetition of the verse “Ce pays tue les jeunes”. He does so in a bid to underscore the uncertain fate of youths in a country that has been governed by an unimaginative dictator for 30 years.

Valsero’s reference to the year 2008 is significant given that this year constitutes an indelibly dark spot in Paul Biya’s 30-year regime in Cameroon (soon to be 37). Cameroonians will remember that in February 2008 Mr Biya ordered his blood-thirsty security forces to open fire on unarmed protesters, mostly youths, who had embarked on a protest match to vent their frustration against food and fuel price hikes. The 2008 protests were a series of demonstrations in Cameroon’s biggest cities like Yaoundé, Douala and Bamenda. The government sent out troops to crack down on the unrest, and protesters were killed. The government reported 40 people killed, but human rights groups claimed that the total was about 100. They also noted that more than 2,000 people were arrested in Douala alone and decried the trials as overly swift, secretive and severe.

It is interesting that Valsero perceives the macabre silence that hangs over the heads of Cameroonians as a time-bomb that will explode before long. Playing the devil’s advocate, he calls on the gang of kleptomaniacs hibernating in Yaoundé to decamp before it is too late. Though singing in standard French, the singer infuses his lyrics with Camerounismes[10] in order to be understood by the youths for whom he sings. Words like ‘bled’, ‘crève’ and ‘se saoulent’ [country, die and get drunk)"> are colloquial French words chosen with circumspection by the songwriter to translate not only meanings but also emotions.

In ‘Lettre au président’ this valiant freedom fighter addresses his message directly to Paul Biya:

'May I know, Presi, why nothing works for us
I have spent several years in school but still can’t find work
You must remember that you promised bringing us to the end of the tunnel
Here we are today still marking time, while the same people call the shots (…)
Presi, your ministers live in this country as if they were strangers on vacation
They amass wealth, they are schooled in the art of holdup
They are arrogant, and they frustrate the people
They flout laws, they act with impunity
Oh Presi, put an end to all this, that is your job
Otherwise, Insha’Allah, I swear, someone else will do the job in lieu of you
The people cannot take it anymore, the youths are fed up
We want to have a taste of the honey too; otherwise we will give you the boot (…)
Presi, the youths no longer have dreams
Presi, Presi, the youths cannot take it anymore
The majority of them are dying
They live in vice;
We retrogress in this country while the rest of the world progresses
The people are sovereign, they are never wrong
They have the force of numbers, they can give you a vote of no-confidence
We are not afraid of death, even if your henchmen summon
Cops for protection
The people say you are the 'Lion Man'
But they dream of one thing only: kill the lion.' [11]

Valsero’s interrogative missive to Paul Biya is loaded. Not only does he take the president to task for promises not kept, he also enjoins him to perform the job for which his is paid. The song is an acrimonious diatribe that conveys the angst of the Cameroonian people against a regime that has failed them in every aspect. The sagacious rapper demands responses from Biya on a number of thorny issues, not least of which is the reason for governmental dysfunction. He revisits the vexing theme of chronic employment in Cameroon and the predicament of college graduates who cannot find gainful employment.

‘Lettre au président’ is the cry of disenchanted Cameroonians at odds with a regime that excels in arrogance, insolence, double-speak impunity and dereliction of duty. Valsero deems it fit to inform the president that the Cameroonian people have defeated fear and that one day, God willing, someone else will have to do the job he is unable to do to the satisfaction of the Cameroonian people. This apocalyptic admonishment ought to be taken seriously by the powers-that-be.

Linguistically speaking, this song is more colloquial than ‘Ce pays tue les jeunes.’ The reason is that Valsero is speaking for the Cameroonian youths and has chosen to employ a parlance that is characteristic of the social class for whom he is spokesperson. The musician constantly culls words and expressions from Camfranglais as seen in these examples: ‘tiennent la chandelle’ (perform a duty), ‘en ont marre’ (fed up), ‘bled’ (home/country/village), ‘potes’ (friends/henchmen/comrades), and ‘crèvent’ (die). These words fit into the register of ‘youth talk’ in Cameroon. It is interesting that Valserotransposes foreign language words, for example, the Arabic word, ‘Insha’Allah’ into French. This should not surprise listeners who may be familiar with the linguistic plurality in Cameroon. Finally, Valsero has recourse to an expression to which all Cameroonians have been accustomed: ‘L’homme lion ‘or ‘Lion man’, has become a sobriquet for Paul Biya on account of the brutality with which he responds to legitimate complaints from citizens about governmental ineptitude.

Lapiro de Mbanga alias Dinga man [12] is the only musician from the trio that has borne the brunt of Biya’s offhanded reaction to political dissidence. Nicknamed ‘président du petit peuple’ [13] by Cameroon’s underprivileged, Lapiro has used the power of popular music to campaign for social reforms in Cameroon for nearly twenty years. Angered by high living costs and a constitutional amendment that was intended to allow Paul Biya to stay in power indefinitely, Lapiro composed the song ‘Constitution Constipée,’ (Constipated Constitution), in which he describes the country’s President Paul Biya as ‘caught in the trap of networks that oblige him to stay in power even though he is tired.’ Lapiro calls for help, probably from the international community, to stop Paul Biya from committing the constitutional rape that he contemplates. He also states in no uncertain terms that Biya is burned out and needs to retire.
Here are the lyrics of the song that earned him a three-year prison term:

'Help!
Come deliver us
There is danger out there
White-collar thieves are
Bent on mutilating the Constitution of my country
The Nation’s grave-diggers want to
Put the Lions in the cage (…)
The rooster is harassed and shaken by threats of hold-up
The Big Boss is tired
The Father of the Nation is exhausted
Give him the opportunity to rest
Pa is tired
He needs help (…)' [14]

This song became an unofficial anthem of the 2008 protests and Lapiro was arrested and charged with inciting youth unrest. In September 2009, he was sentenced to three years imprisonment and ordered to pay a fine of 280 million CFA francs ($640,000) as compensation for damage caused during the riots. In spite of this humiliation by the government of his homeland, Lapiro has regained international renown and has become even more vocal against the misdeeds of the Biya regime. During the just concluded presidential poll in October 2011, he called on all Cameroonians to cast blank votes to show their contempt for Biya. In November 2009, he was selected as the winner of the global ‘Freedom to Create Imprisoned Artist Prize’. The jury argued that ‘his songs constitute a cultural megaphone by which the disenfranchised and politically endangered can vicariously exercise free speech.’

The language in ‘Constitution Constipée’ is surprisingly free of the Lapiroisms [15] to which this maverick songwriter has accustomed Cameroonians. However, Lapiro borrows from Pidgin English not simply to embellish his writing but also to speak in a lingo that the rank and file can understand. After all, the message in this song, like in his other recordings, is intended for the downtrodden. Expressions such as ‘Big Katika don taya’oh!’, ‘Répé don slack’oh!’, ‘Wuna lep yi yi rest’, ‘Répé don fatigué’ and ‘Yi wan go rest’ (…) are pidgin expressions. It should be noted that ‘répé’ is the inverted form of ‘père’ [father">. Camfranglais speakers have borrowed this technique of lexical inversion from speakers of French Verlan. [16]

In another song ‘Lef am so’ [17] Lapiro pours venom on Paul Biya and his lame duck ministers:

'Send everybody to Nkondengui!
Everybody to Nkondengui!
Send Big Katika to Nkondengui!
Send all his ministers to Kondengui!
Sure! Sure! Sure! (…)
If you are sick of only one disease, there may be some hope of recovering
But if you are afflicted by several illnesses like this country
And all kinds of treatment, including drips and anti-shock medication have not helped
I swear, you can be sure your days are numbered
We all know that when hospital medications fail us
We fall back on traditional medicine an alternative
How can you explain the fact that the more medications we
Give to our nation, the worse its health becomes?
My friend, in the past there was no poverty in this country
Today, people are scraping a bare living
Yet the World Bank and other international financial institutions
Have loaned us money with incredibly high interest rates payable in one hundred years
In other words, our great grandchildren
Shall have to work in order to repay these loans
So, we have not only been reduced to slaves
We have also mortgaged the future of our kids forever and ever (…)
Ignorance and spitefulness
Arrogance and insolence in dealing with compatriots
As you can see for yourselves
This country is upside down
Cameroon has capsized
Yes, my friend, this country is sick indeed.' [18]

This passage speaks volumes about the linguistic innovation characteristic of Lapiro’ musical composition. Lapiro’s language could be described as a mix of several codes: French, Pidgin English and indigenous tongues. In his lyrics, he tells the story of the disenchanted Cameroonian rank and file: taxi drivers, ‘bendskin’ drivers, whores, conmen, hawkers, employed college graduates and more. To do so effectively, he is obligated to speak in a language that is intelligible to them all.

Interestingly, this lingo is likely to pose insurmountable comprehension obstacles to foreign listeners not familiar with Lapiroisms. A word like ‘Katika’ is a polysemous lexeme. In other words, it carries several connotations. In daily usage, ‘katika’ refers to a bouncer in a nightclub. Lapiro has endowed it with a new meaning in his song: head of state or leader. In similar vein, ‘mandat’ has undergone a semantic shift and taken on a new signification. It is used in this context as a translation of the English word ‘lifespan’ or ‘existence’. ‘Nchinda’ is a loan from Pidgin English. Generally, it translates the notion of ‘royal pages’. In this context, it translates into the English word ‘lieutenants’ or ‘ministers’. ‘Ndoh’ is a camfranglais word for ‘money’. ‘Njanga and ‘manguru ngwété’ are gleaned from Cameroonian indigenous languages. ‘Njanga’ is a Duala word for ‘child’. ‘Manguru ngwété’ translates the concept of abject poverty. Lapiro resorts to code-switching in an attempt to translate the speech patterns of the people he addresses into musical composition. Recurring themes in his songs are governmental impunity, insolence and disregard for the demands of the governed.

CONCLUSION
In a nutshell, it bears repeating that Elwood, Valsero and Lapiro are anti-establishment songwriters whose lyrics harbour seeds of a revolution. They are both entertainers and social critics. Their danceable lyrics translate messages of hope and despair. The theme that runs through the songs of all three combatant musicians is human rights and freedoms. Their songs have produced a tonic effect on the new generation of young Cameroonians who are prepared to take the future of their country into their own hands by all means necessary. Language is a mighty tool at the disposal of these songwriters. They wield it tactfully. While Elwood has kept his French in a pristine standard form, Valsero and Lapiro have gone with the flow and created an urban slang that not only transposes the speech mannerisms of Cameroonians into the written word but also portrays them as songwriters in search of a new identity.

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* Dr. Vakunta is Professor at the United States Department of Defense LanguagInstitute in Monterey, California. He runs a blog at http://www.vakunta.blogspot.com
* Please send comments to editor[at]pambazuka[dot]org or comment online at Pambazuka News.

NOTES
[1] My soldier cousin
[2] Heureusement que j’ai mon cousin militaire,
Heureusement que j’ai mon cousin militaire,
Je serai déjà au cimetière,
Deux mettres sous terre,
Pauvre cadavre, simple squelette
En train de sourire comme tous les squelettes de la terre
Qui n’arrêtent pas de sourire,
Le sourire de la mort
Mort de misère,
Misère des hommes pauvres et macabre.
On m’appelle monsieur galère
On m’appelle tonton misère.
Je vis dans un quartier populaire,
Et nous sommes de vrais prolétaires,
Insuffisance alimentaire, vestimentaire, monétaire.
Et nous sommes de vrais prolétaires,
Nous sommes majoritaires sur cette terre de misère.

Heureusement que j’ai mon cousin militaire (…)
Quand il touche son salaire, il me donne mon argent de bière.
Et moi, je fonce chez ma rombière,
Toute la nuit on s’envole en l’air (…)
Quand il s’en va la-bas ver la guerre,
Moi, je fais des prières
Moi, je fais des paters austères.
Une mauvaise guerre,
Une guerre frontière,
Une guerre incendiaire,
Une guerre meurtrière,
Une guerre suicidaire (…)
[3] The Wretched of the Earth(1961)
[4] Germinal (1885)
[5] Ma vie va changer
Le décret vient de tomber
Mon frère vient d’être nommé à un poste très élevé
La rumeur a circulé partout au quartier
Aujourd’hui, c’est confirmé.
La radio en a parlé, parlé, parlé.
La télé a confirmé (…)
ça y est, ma vie va changer
Je vais enfin respirer
Je vais devoir me comporter
Comme un bao puisque mon frère est en haut.
La souffrance est terminée,
Terminée la marche à pied,
Les pains chargés,
Les taxis surchargés,
Ma vie va changer.
Je serai véhiculé.
J’irai partout dans les sous-quartiers
Me promener dans ma merco climatisée.
Toutes les filles vont tomber sans glisser (…)
Je vais gagner des marchés.
Mon frère est en haut.
Même si je ne peux pas livrer,
Il va quand même me payer
Ma vie va changer.
Au village, on va fêter,
On va bouger
On va boire
On va manger (…)
[6] Camfranglais is a “composite language consciously developed by secondary school students who have in common a number of linguistic codes, namely French, English and a few widespread indigenous languages (Kouega, 2003: 23-29). Cameroonian youths use this urban slang as a communicative code to exclude other members of the community. They resort to Camfranglais to exchange ideas such as dating, sports, physical looks, and more in a manner that the message would remain coded.
[7] This country kills its youths
[8] Government of the thieves, by the thieves, and for the thieves
[9] Pour 2008 je me parle
Pour 2008 je te parle
J’espère que tu vas bien
Et qu’il t’arrivera des choses bien (…)
Tous ces diplomés qui choment,
Cette génération ne verra pas le fameux bout du tunnel
De toutes les façons je n’y crois pas,
La jeunesse crève à petit feu,
Tandis que les vieux derrière les forteresses
Se saoulent à l’eau de feu.
Ce pays tue les jeunes.
Cinquante ans de pouvoir.
Après ça, ils ne lâchent pas prise
De bled dénature (…)
La vie est trop dure
Le système la rend encore plus dure, plus dure,
Ils le vivent.
A Yaoundé, ils le savent
Ce pays tue les jeunes.
Ce pays est comme une bombe
Pour les jeunes à tombeau.
Faites attention quand ça va péter ça va tuer
Tous les lambeaux.
Alors les vieux, faites de la place.
Il faut pas le flambeau.
Ce pays tue les jeunes.
Les vieux ne lâchent pas la prise
De bled dénature (…)
[10] Cameroonian turns of phrase.
[11] Puis-je savoir, Prési, pourquoi pour nous ça ne marche pas
J’ai fait de longues années d’études et j’ai pas trouvé d’emploi
Je te rappelle que t’avais promis qu’on sortirait du tunnel
On y est toujours, ce sont les mêmes qui tiennent la chandelle (…)
Prési, tes potes vivent au bled comme s’ils sont de passage
Ils amassent des fortunes, spécialistes des braquages
Ils font preuve d’arrogance, ils frustrent le peuple
Ils piétinent les règles et ils font ce qu’ils veulent
Ah Prési, arrête ça c’est ça ton travail
Ou inch’Allah, je jure, un autre fera le travail
Le peuple n’en peut plus, les jeunes en ont marre
On veut aussi goûter du miel sinon on te gare (…)
Prési, les jeunes ne rêvent plus
Prési, Prési, les jeunes n’en peuvent plus
La majorité crève
Dans le vice ils basculent et quand le monde avance, nous, au
bled, on recule (…)
Le peuple est souverain il n’a jamais tort,
Il a la force du nombre, il peut te donner tort
On n’a pas peur de la mort, même si tes potes appellent des
flics en renfort
Ils disent de toi que c’est toi “l’homme lion”
Mais ils n’ont qu’un rêve: ils veulent tuer le lion.
[12] Guitar man
[13] President of the rank and file
[14] Au secours!
Venez nous délivrer
L’heure est grave
Les bandits en cols blancs
Veulent braquer la constitution de mon pays
Les fossoyeurs de la république
Veulent mettre les lions en cage (…)
Le coq est harcelé et menacé d’une tentative de holdup (…)
Big Katika don taya’oh!
Répé don slack’oh!
Wuna lep yi yi rest
Répé don fatigué
Yi wan go rest (…)
[15] Turns of phrase created by Lapiro. Lapiroisms have enabled him to communicate with the underprivileged classes of society in a language that they understand best.
[16] Verlan is an argot in the French language featuring inversion of syllables in a word, and is common in slang and youth language. It rests on a long French tradition of transposing syllables of individual words to create slang words. The name verlan is an example: it is derived from inverting the syllables in l'envers ("the inverse," pronounced lan-ver).
[17] Let sleeping dogs lie.
[18] Envoyez tout le monde à Nkondengui!
Tout le monde à Nkondengui!
Big Katika à Nkondengui!
Tous les ministres à Nkondengui!
Biensûr! Biensûr Biensûr! (…)
Mola, taim weh person get daso one sick
For yi sikin yi get espoir sei da sick fit bolè
But taim weh sick beaucoup
Like how di kondre get’am so
Surtout how weh kan kan traitement à perfusions
Ana traitement de choc noba bolè yi,
Je jure que yi own mandat done shot.
All we we sabi sei taim weh sick noba bolè for l’hôpital
Dem di replier na for kanda sitick
Comment se fait-il que plus we win back
Plus kondre di so so meng daso?
Mombo, avant foua no be been
Jess noh, na manguru ngwété don been
Pourtant banque mondiale ana ala instituts financiers
Dem don trust we ndoh avec majorations de crédit
Remboursable dans cent ans (…)
Dat be sei sep njanga for njanga for we njanga
Dem go come boulot for pay dang ndoh.
Donc, non seuelment we sep we don ton na ninga
We don hypothéquer avenir for we njanga forever and ever (…)
Ignorance avec mépris
Arrogance et insolence for dem kondre pipo (…)
Comme vous pouvez le constater,
Cameroon dong capside…
Yes, mombo, this country no well (…)

Discography
Danny Elwood.
• Mon cousin militaire
• Je suis Pygmée
• En haut
• Mon chien Dick Dick Dick
• Turlupiner
• Akao Manga
• Odontol
• Je t’aimais, je t’aime, t’aimerai
(All recordings are available on YouTube at: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5wdZJjMEKMo&feature=related)
Valsero a.k.a Le Général
• Lettre au président
• Ce pays tue les jeunes
• Réponse du président à Valsero
• Valsero répond
• Valsero, ne me parle pas du Cameroun
• Holdup
• Va voter
• Touche pas mon manioc
(All recordings available on YouTube at:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jm0PL4FhoRw&feature=related)

Lapiro de Mbanga
• Constitution constipée
• Lef am so
• Na You
• Kop nie
• Overdone
• Nak pasi
• Mimba wi
• Pas argent pas amour
• Qui n’est rien n’a rien
• Jolie fille
• Mi nding mi be, foua
(All recordings available on YouTube at:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Thqb_aTByAE)