In a classroom nestled in Cameroon’s lush highlands, a former rebel fighter teaches logic and philosophy. His students know him as calm and thoughtful, but his past tells a more turbulent story.
For a year and a half, Ateasong Belts Tajoah fought with the Red Dragons, a separatist militia in the country’s conflict-ridden southwest. He joined the movement in 2017 at age 23 after local fighters came to his village and offered a chance to turn his frustrations with the government into action.
Like many in the English-speaking parts of Cameroon, he felt marginalized by the government dominated by the French-speaking population. Those tensions, beginning with peaceful protests organized by lawyers and teachers, turned deadly almost a decade ago following a government crackdown.
The fight for independence for English-speaking areas, which the emerging rebel groups called Ambazonia, has killed over 6,500 people and displaced over 1.1 million.
A view of a street where Ateasong Belts Tajoah teaches philosophy, helping to rebuild a community scarred by conflict, in Dschang, Cameroon.
| Photo Credit:
AP
As a rebel, Mr. Tajoah lived under plastic sheets in the rain, cooked for leaders and carried out attacks on military and civilian targets. “You could never sleep with both eyes closed,” he said, pointing to scars on his neck and stomach left by bullets.
Drugs and alcohol were rampant in the camps, often used as coping mechanisms for the constant threat of ambushes or betrayal. The psychological toll was immense, Tajoah said, recalling the trauma of carrying the bodies of more than 20 fallen comrades.
The rebel group believed that destroying schools would weaken the government’s control over the region, a strategy that left a deep scar on the educational landscape.
Armed groups enforced boycotts, burned classrooms and killed teachers who defied their orders. Nearly 488,000 children in the affected regions were out of school in 2024, according to UNICEF.
Tajoah admitted to playing a role in the destruction, not sharing details but acknowledging the strategy’s profound harm to countless lives.
The breaking point for him came with the loss of his 11-year-old child during an attack by government forces on his camp. Already disillusioned with the separatist leadership and overwhelmed by grief, he surrendered in early 2019.
He entered a government-run rehabilitation center for former fighters in Buea, the capital of Cameroon’s Southwest region, where he spent 18 months reflecting on his past. Like many ex-combatants, Tajoah has faced a long and lonely road, with widespread stigma marking his path to reintegration into society.
While the rehabilitation center promised skills training, the country’s demobilization program has faced widespread criticism for its slow implementation and lack of resources.
Tajoah witnessed the prevalence of drugs, reportedly brought in by the same officials tasked with guiding ex-combatants. There were concerns that some fighters were allegedly coerced into military operations after surrendering. The government did not respond to a request for comment.
Many ex-combatants have returned to armed groups, citing frustration with the rehabilitation program. In 2021, former fighters blocked streets in Buea to protest, accusing the government of not fulfilling its promise of support.
Lack of oversight and transparency exacerbates the issues, according to Syndie Rhianne Makeutche, a peace researcher with the United Nations. “Without these measures, the program risks losing credibility and pushing more ex-combatants back into violence,” she said.
Despite the challenges, Tajoah carved out a new path. He earned a master’s degree in philosophy in July.
Teaching is more than a job, he said. “It is a way to confront my past and inspire others to avoid my mistakes.”
His presence in the classroom initially raised some fears. “Many assumed former combatants were uneducated and dangerous,” he said.
With dedication and openness about his past, Tajoah gradually earned the trust of his students, their parents and the broader community.
His decision to teach logic and philosophy stemmed from a long-standing interest in critical thinking and human behavior.
“I was fond of these subjects before becoming a fighter,” he said. Today, he uses them to challenge students to think differently and to guide them toward a more constructive path.
Beyond the classroom, Tajoah has become an outspoken advocate for peace. He employs a social media strategy to educate people about the dangers of rebellion, sharing images of fallen fighters to highlight the realities of armed conflict.
He also risks his life travelling to villages, urging young people to put down their weapons. Some residents said his outreach has been instrumental in fostering peace, resulting in the surrender of some fighters.
While some are sceptical about Tajoah’s work, others see him as a beacon of change. “More people understand now he’s here to bring peace and encourage others to drop their guns,” said Ajiawung Columbus Fortulah, a traditional chief of Atulah village, where Tajoah grew up.
Some fighters have put down their weapons, and the local primary school has reopened for studies, Fortulah said.
Yet Mr. Tajoah’s activism has come at personal cost. His mother has been kidnapped twice by separatists, and he has received numerous death threats from separatists seeking to silence his efforts.
Another ex-combatant, Okha Naseri Clovis, shares Mr. Tajoah’s determination. Now studying logistics in Cameroon’s capital, Yaoundé, Clovis has been outspoken about his experiences, frequently criticizing separatist leaders. He addresses ex-combatants at rehabilitation centres, urging them to embrace reintegration and peace, and travels to remote villages to counter the narrative of separatists.
Cameroonian officials have welcomed community efforts that support the rehabilitation program but have been accused by critics of not addressing the root causes of the crisis.
The conflict, meanwhile, shows no signs of resolution. Peace talks with international mediators have stalled, with both sides accusing each other of bad faith.
“There’s a difference between the Anglophone crisis and Ambazonian terrorism,” Tajoah said. “Anglophones are marginalized, but guns and kidnappings won’t solve it. Dialogue and action are the only way forward.”
He hopes his students will embrace that message.
“I fought to close schools, but now I teach to open minds,” he said. “The scars will always be there, but they don’t have to define you.”
Published – January 27, 2025 10:30 am IST
