A Night I Will Always Remember

There are moments in an artist's life when the stage ceases to be a stage and becomes sacred ground—a space where the veil between the past and the present grows thin, and emotions long buried rise to the surface, demanding to be felt once more.

Yesterday was one such moment for me.

I had the privilege of performing at the Home Entertainment Tour at Azire Old Church Junction. The atmosphere was electric, the crowd was warm, and the energy was palpable. But as I prepared to step onto that stage, I knew that this performance would be different. I knew that I would be sharing something deeply personal, something that had been locked away in the quietest corners of my heart.

I performed "Muyuh."

For those who do not know, "Muyuh" is not just a poem. It is a letter. It is a conversation. It is a bridge between this world and the next. It is a poem I wrote for my little brother—my dear, departed brother—who left us some years ago. His absence has been a constant presence in my life, a void that no amount of time can truly fill.

When I wrote "Muyuh," I poured into it all the words I never got to say, all the memories I wished I could relive, all the love that still burns bright despite the years that have passed. It was my way of keeping him alive, of ensuring that his spirit would never be forgotten.

But yesterday, as I stood on that stage and began to speak the words, something unexpected happened. The memories I had long buried—the laughter, the pain, the moments we shared, the moments we never got to have—came rushing back with an intensity that took over me entirely.

I was no longer just a performer reciting a poem. I was a brother, standing before a crowd, speaking to his little brother across the divide of death. The emotions were raw, unfiltered, and overwhelming. My voice wavered. My heart pounded. And in that moment, I realized that this poem was not just mine to carry—it was a gift to be shared.

The audience, bless them, held space for me. They listened in silence, their eyes reflecting the same emotions that were coursing through me. They allowed me to be vulnerable, to be human, to be real. And when I finished, the applause was not just for the performance—it was for the healing, the remembrance, the shared humanity that art makes possible.

I dedicate this performance to my little brother. I carry you with me always, in every word I speak, in every poem I write, in every breath I take. You are gone but never forgotten. You are the reason I pour my soul into my art. You are the reason I believe that words have the power to heal, to connect, and to transcend.

To everyone who was there yesterday—thank you. Thank you for witnessing a piece of my heart. Thank you for holding space for my grief and my love. Thank you for reminding me that even in our most vulnerable moments, we are never truly alone.

And to my brother: Muyuh. This was for you. Always for you.

Muyuh

Look at our hills
The Majestic Bamenda Highlands
Once crowned with mists and dignity
Now choking by a smoke that does not
come from cooking fires

See wa pikin dem
Sons and Daughters of the soil
Now walking like ghosts in broad daylight
Their youth is being swallowed by white powders
Chemical nightmares,
Tramadol dreams and synthetic escapes

Look at them melting
Right before our eyes
Their brilliant minds reduced to ashes
See how their skin di shake shake like
old dross inside cold

When a look wa family dem
E don turn na war zone
Mothers are and have cried until tears
no di comot again
Mami di tie e wrapper, hold am strong
for hid chop money
Sotey e fit fall inside toilet when e go for
toilet
Just because e own blood, e own pikin
don turn na tifman

See reppe dem do shiddon tie mop, voice
no fit comot
All because of the shame
The shame of watching the future they labored for,
Dissolve into a syringe, a pip or a pill

Home is no longer sanctuary
It's a crime scene of broken trust

Commercial avenue is bleeding
From food market to mile 4
The city vibrates with a dangerous
desperation
Wu street no still get rhythm
For how do we build a tomorrow
When the builders are passed out on the
sidewalk

The future of Abakwa is being sold
wholesale
On the street corner.
And if we keep quiet, Bamenda will
become a graveyard
Of unfulfilled destinies

May the Gods of Abakwa rise
May they rise and strike these beasts
These merchants of death
These architects of this ruin
The one who count coins
While our children count their last
breaths

You who imports, fabricate these toxins
in dark rooms
Trading the souls of our children, our
brothers, our friends
For stacks of blood money, feeding your
families
With proceeds of our destruction.

I tell you know the piece of tramadol
But its time you know the price of a
mother's tears
You make know the weight of a kilo of cayou
But you dont know the weight of a small
coffin

My heart rage for the one in uniform
Taking brown envelops and looking
away
While our children perish
Protecting the beasts and penalising the
victims
You are the lock to the gate of hell
You hold the key
You have traded your oath for a coin
And history will judge your silence
As a weapon of mass destruction

The blood of our children is not on the
syringe or the pipes
Alone
It's on your black suits and polishing
shoes

Ma papa dem
Ma mami dem
E nova late
But small-time e fit late
Small time still dey for build a fence
around this faya

You gave life to these children
Do not give dem up
Most of them didn't choose this
The enemy became wise and hid this poison
in sweets, biscuits and bottles of drinks
Not forgetting peer pressure

It's time to ask the questions that hurt
Before we get the answer that destroy
Know their friends, search their rooms
and belongings
Look into their eyes until you see the
truth
Do not shame them—save them
Wrap them inside wrapper for ndolo trong
Make that need no fit pass

Finally, my brothers, my sisters
Forget that name wey dem di call wuna
Listen to my voice
You are not a statistics
You are not a waste
Don't let them numb you and still your
inheritance

It's time to rise up
Look at your hands,
They were made to build not to tremble
Look at your mind, it was made to
conquer
Not to be enslaved

Yes, withdrawal will hurt
The battles will be fierce
But you must fight and take your
destiny back from these beasts

Break the habit
Break the chains
This land is not your graveyard
It is your birthplace and tonight
Give birth to yourself anew

And let us reclaim the Bamenda
Highlands
One life at a time
One day at a time

Breathe
Breathe
Breathe

 
Tanni Desmond Awa (Mottanni)
2026