Oh, Cameroon thou cradle of our fathers. Where is the cradle for our future? The holy shrine has been desecrated with the blood of innocent children. Where do we repose? Our tears dripped in our children’s blood as we held their helpless bodies in our arms. Their blood now waters the soil. The hills that were once a refuge place are now deserted Dear fatherland, our tongues are heavy with sorrow. How can you ever pay the dues for our loss,
