Who Is a Clan Head? — Rediscovering the Living Temple Among the Mbum People

 Among the Mbum people, words are never just words. They carry memory, spirit, lineage, and worldview. A mistranslation is not a small mistake—it can quietly reshape identity, authority, and spiritual understanding. So we must ask a serious question: Could it be translators from Limbum to English are causing confusion and loss to Mbum people?

In Limbum ‘to’ means head or top. ‘to ndap’ – head or top of the house. ‘to chi’ – top of the tree. ‘to tap’ – top of hurt. ‘to manjo’ – owner of a system. I have heard people who would like to be head or at the top or to rule over in Mbum called themselves ‘to ngong’, ‘to nkfu’ etc and I wonder because from growing up and having physical and spiritual education from my grandparents, parents and others we have never heard of ‘to ngong’. Instead, in Mbum spiritual practices we know of ‘tu ngong’. ‘Tu’ or hole, because a hole both in Limbum and English does not have a head. And ‘ngong’ is cyclical in both English and Limbum and if this be true, like science says the world is round, how does it have a head?

Now every Fon in Mbum is sovereign. We all know the systems that when a Fon has them it means he is sovereign. Now can a sovereign leader or Fon have a head or leader over him? It is just like saying the Paul Biya, the President of Cameroon, has another head over him. What would be the office or title that this head occupies? How is it that in Mbum land some Fons are called clan head? Is it confusion of English translation or do Fons have heads above them in Mbum culture?

In our compound we have ‘Tar la’ and he leads the whole compound but he is not excited to lead individual houses, so his function is not physical leading but father, because father represents or incarnates the original creator in a genealogy but not necessarily biological or has to take internal decisions within families in the compound. He is steward of the common good. He is the spiritual father of all because it is an office he incarnates, not by birth, because he can even be biologically the son of another older person in the family and son to many others in the compound.

I have also been hearing that Jesus Christ is the head of the church. In what can to be likened to a church that my grandparents had was ‘ndapngong’, and we do not have a ndapngong head. We have the ambassador or messenger or apostle of God who leads in the ‘ndapngong’. One of my aunts is even named ndapnong and got married to Binka which shows that in a sense anyone in my genealogy could even name themselves church (‘ndapngong’) if colonization had not disrupted our systems and imposed foreign structures over our traditions.

If Christ said “destroy this temple and I will raise it up in three days” and we all know he was the temple, is Christ being head of the church meaning the fullness of Godhead body sits at the top and is connected to us to be head, or he is the church himself? As it is written in Gospel of John 2:19, “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.” And later it was explained that he was speaking of the temple of his body. The apostle also teaches in First Epistle to the Corinthians 12:27, “Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it.” And again in Epistle to the Ephesians 2:21, “In him the whole building is joined together and rises to become a holy temple in the Lord.”

Sometimes I write that I am ‘ndapnong’, and if I say I will do something in the world or ‘ngong’ you may think I need to go to the Kieku Tang where that groove or temple is located to do it. It seems to me people in every epoch are thinking and believing the same thing that the church is a building, just as it was in the beginning, even after the clarification that Jesus Christ gave that he is the temple which was destroyed and raised up the third day. Then why are those believing still not realizing this resurrection which they believe in, and what truly happened?

In Tangmboh we have small sub chiefs (pTar la bee), sub chiefs (pkibais), and Nkfu (Fon), and it ends with Fon (Nkfu) as the supreme, and there is no other physical or spiritual entity above nkfu or Fon. And if such were to exist, and I have never seen or heard, I hear that if you come with such supremacy to Tangmboh you must keep it aside and surrender under HRM Ta Nfor Nkwi Tang, the Fon. Now the supposed clan heads we have in Mbum land, if they come to Tangmboh to stay permanently, unconditionally they must surrender or dethrone themselves because we cannot have two Fons in Tang. So how can you be a clan head or head of a church, for example, that you cannot be there to control all your jurisdiction permanently? Why claim to be head of a geographical Mbum or church only in name and not in power? How can another Fon claim to exercise clan power over other villages simply by calling themselves a clan head? How can another Fon claim to exercise clan power over other villages simply by calling themselves a clan head? If the President of Cameroon were to try something similar in the CEMAC sub-region, he would at least be issuing formal decrees—so what authority or traditional decrees are clan heads issuing to exercise their power in other villages?

The Fon of Tang, wherever he may be, is still the Fon of Tang. And myself Tfurndabi Tawong, wherever I am, I am still the Tawong. Why are the other Mbum Fons who have been made clan heads not having the sovereignty all over those clans as Tawong has in the Ngong and Ta Nfor Nkwi Tang has in Tangmboh?

And as the scripture says in Gospel of Luke 17:21, “The kingdom of God is within you.” If the temple of God is living, if the church is living, and if sovereignty is living, then the question before the Mbum people today is deeper than language. It is a question of identity, memory, and truth. Have translations slowly shifted meanings that our ancestors clearly understood, or are we ready to look again at our language, our spirituality, and our sovereignty so that the fullness of what we are is not lost in translation?

Let this be a call to reflection among the Mbum people: Is this conversation merely about language, or is it revealing deeper truths about our history and structures? Are we confronting colonial administrative systems that reshaped our traditions? Are we rediscovering the sovereignty of our kingdoms?

Tfurndabi Tawong

 

A Digital Witness: When Words Become History, and Silence Becomes Loss

 In every generation, truth does not merely live in books—it is spoken, challenged, refined, and preserved through both voice and action. What we now call “history” was once a living conversation. What we now call “art” was once dismissed as ordinary work.

When I stated that carpentry is an art and history itself is also an art, it was not a casual remark. It was a recognition that creation—whether with hands or with memory—is sacred. The builder and the historian are not far apart; one shapes wood, the other shapes time. Both require vision, discipline, and truth.

It is therefore concerning that when I proposed a transparent and intellectually grounded approach—calling for multiple historians to research and write diverse perspectives of Mbum history—the idea was not examined, but erased. Not corrected, not debated—deleted.

This is not just a digital action. It is a spiritual signal.

Across cultures and even within Christian tradition, truth has always been tested in the open. Prophets spoke not because it was convenient, but because silence would have been a greater error. When something is in formation—whether a law, a system, or a historical narrative—statements, objections, and contributions are not disruptions; they are safeguards.

An idea that cannot withstand dialogue is not yet ready to become history.

My intention was simple but essential: that history, once written, should not become a closed document but a living testimony—examined from multiple lenses, strengthened through intellectual diversity, and preserved with integrity. A single narrative risks becoming a single point of failure. Multiple narratives create resilience, depth, and truth.

The deletion of such a suggestion raises a deeper question: Are we building history, or are we controlling it?

I have come to understand something through lived experience—words spoken online are not empty. They travel, they remain, and they act. I have seen statements made in passing return with consequence. I have seen corrections, reflections, and even sermons shared in digital spaces produce real-world impact over time.

The digital space is not separate from reality—it is an extension of it.

There was a moment that stayed with me: an elder, living in comfort within a well-structured society, chose not to contribute meaningfully, yet spoke words that diminished the struggle of my father—who labored to raise us. That moment did not disappear. It remains, not just in memory, but in meaning. This is why every statement matters.

To delete a contribution is not only to remove words—it is to interrupt a possible correction, a future reference point, or a needed balance. What is dismissed today may be the very insight required tomorrow.

I therefore choose to restate, clearly and without hesitation: History deserves plurality.

Truth requires openness.

And digital spaces must not become places where ideas are filtered by preference rather than refined by dialogue. If an instrument, system, or historical record is being built, then let it be strong enough to receive critique. Because if it fails in the future, it is often the ignored voices of the past that hold the key to its correction.

This is not resistance.

This is responsibility.

And so, I submit this not as a complaint, but as a record—that a voice spoke, that an idea was offered,

and that history, whether accepted or rejected, has now been witnessed.

A Living Archive Speaks: Authority, Memory, and the Voice of Tfurndabi Tawong

The narrative “Meet ‘Ngang’: Disclosing the ‘Boo-Nsoh’ Code and the Juju That Shapes Tabenken’s Identity” is more than cultural reflection–it is a living transmission of memory, lineage, and authority. Its meaning rests in the voice that carries it.

Who is Tfurndabi Tawong in This Context?

He does not speak as an observer or external researcher. He speaks as:

• A direct descendant of the lineage he describes

• A bearer of inherited memory and encoded tradition

• A voice shaped by bloodline continuity, not study alone

His contribution is therefore not merely intellectual–it is lived and embodied.

In many African epistemologies, history is not only written; it is carried through people, names, rituals, and generations. In this sense, he stands as: A living archive one whose authority rests in ancestry, continuity, and cultural legitimacy.