Just before she hurried out the front door, my mother hugged me tightly, buzzing with excitement about attending her first protest and help push for change in our country, Cameroon.
I thought I’d see her again in the evening, when we would have dinner together with my grandmother – who we live with – and talk about the day’s events.
But her goodbye that morning two years ago was more final than I ever imagined: she never returned home.
Since then, she has remained in a cramped prison cell in our city, Douala.
My mother, Dorgelesse Nguessan, had never been that interested in politics – working hard as a hairdresser to make ends meet, she was always busy with clients or looking after her family.
But, as the future of our country became increasingly bleak – the economy was in a bad way – my mum wanted to get involved with the growing number of people expressing their frustration at the Government and calling for change.
As a single parent, she was worried about earning enough to support me and my grandmother, and she wanted her voice to count. So she travelled to the protest feeling optimistic, hoping the march might trigger real change.
However, she was wrong.
Very quickly, the protest became dangerous thanks to government security forces. They fired rubber bullets, tear gas and water cannons to disperse protesters.
My mother tried to escape the violence down an alley, but she was followed by police, arrested and held on bail in a cell with 22 other people and only one bed. She was treated like an animal.
My mum was charged with ‘insurrection, assembly, meetings and public demonstrations’ and after trial by a military court, she was sentenced to five years in Douala Central Prison. She has been there ever since.
Almost 100 other people were arrested in connection to the September 2020 protests and 64 are still in detention, according to my mother’s lawyer, who represents all the people arrested that day. Many are supporters of the main political opposition party (my mum was inspired by them, though she wasn’t a member), and many report to Amnesty having been tortured.
These people, who were brave enough to speak up, have done absolutely nothing wrong. Mum just wanted to make sure that she could provide for her family. This is not a crime.
Without her, my grandmother and I find it hard to cope emotionally and financially. She was the main breadwinner for our family. At 18, I struggle to earn enough money to support myself – I have sickle cell anaemia and have to pay for my medication – as well as my grandmother, who also suffers with a number of health conditions.
I want to be a mechanic, so am also trying to continue my studies while earning money after classes. I work in a clothes shop and sell food at the market.
I’m angry and scared – it’s like living in a never-ending nightmare – not knowing how she is much of the time and not knowing when she will be let out.
But Amnesty’s Write for Rights campaign has given me a glimmer of hope. The campaign encourages millions of people across the world to write letters, emails, tweets and sign petitions to put pressure on governments, leaders and decision-makers so that they release activists.
By taking action and writing to Paul Biya – the President of Cameroon – people can remind him that the world is watching.
With enough pressure, he may even release my mother so that we can be reunited and life can return to some kind of normal. I just want my mum back home.
To get involved with Write for Rights 2022 – made possible thanks to funds raised by players of People’s Postcode Lottery and awarded by the Postcode Justice Trust – visit the Amnesty International website here.
Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk.
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