Yong Fru Official

09/06/2026

A friend of mine told me he had signed up with one of these on-line
dating services. I asked him the other day if he had had any luck and
he said he'd quit -- seems they'd matched him up with his wife.🧑‍🦯

05/06/2026

Working in a Company as the Last Floor Subordinate Feels Like Hell

In Cameroon, there are two kinds of workers:

The bosses…
And the people God has abandoned to “Please see me urgently.”

Martin belonged to the second category.

Every morning by 6:00 a.m., before even brushing his teeth properly, his phone would already vibrate like a kidnapped generator.

“Good morning Martin, kindly prepare the report.”

That was Supervisor Number 1.

Before he could reply, another message entered:

“Martin where are the keys for the archive?”

Supervisor Number 2.

Then another:

“Have you sent the mail I asked yesterday?”

Supervisor Number 3.

Then the final boss:

“Come to my office NOW.”

Supervisor Number 4.

Martin had not even reached the office yet.

One day he entered the company gate at exactly 7:58 a.m. trying to look responsible. The security guard looked at him with pity and said,
“My brother… courage.”

Even the guard knew his suffering.

The company building itself looked like stress. Everybody upstairs walked slowly and confidently because they had titles like:

- Regional Coordinator,
- Deputy Assistant Senior Executive,
- Acting Permanent Temporary Director.

Meanwhile Martin’s own title was simply:
“Staff.”

No department. No respect. Just “staff.”

Every superior used him like a remote control.

“Martin go downstairs.”

“Martin come upstairs.”

“Martin photocopy this.”

“Martin buy water.”

“Martin accompany the visitor.”

At one point, Martin was so confused he nearly photocopied pure water sachets.

The worst part was meetings.

Ah. Cameroon company meetings.

A two-hour meeting just to conclude:
“Let us continue tomorrow.”

One Monday morning, all four supervisors called Martin at the same time.

Supervisor 1:
“Martin come and fix the printer.”

Supervisor 2:
“Martin why are you not in the meeting?”

Supervisor 3:
“Martin the client is waiting downstairs.”

Supervisor 4:
“Martin who told you to leave your desk?”

Martin stood in the corridor like a man choosing which ancestor to disappoint first.

At lunch break, the bosses would eat chicken and plantains while discussing “economic challenges.”

Martin and the other junior workers sat outside under a mango tree sharing one bottle of Coca-Cola like holy communion.

One colleague whispered:
“My brother, if salary could talk, mine would apologize every month.”

Another said:
“At this point I’m not working for money again. I’m just gathering experience for motivational speeches.”

Everybody laughed the painful laugh of employed Africans.

Then came the famous office embarrassment.

One Friday, Martin mistakenly sent a voice note meant for his friend into the company group.

The voice note said:

“This office will finish me one day. These supervisors move like Avengers. Everywhere you turn, one is calling your name.”

Silence.

Pure silence.

Then “typing…”

Supervisor 2 replied:
“Please see me in my office.”

Martin nearly relocated to Equatorial Guinea.

But somehow, workers survived.

Through gossip during power cuts.
Through pretending the network was bad when bosses called.
Through long toilet breaks that became mini-vacations.
Through drinking office coffee that tasted like boiled regret.
And through the sacred worker prayer:

“God please let today finish peacefully.”

At the end of every month, salary would enter quietly… very quietly… like it was ashamed of itself.

But still, on Monday morning, everybody returned.

Because in Cameroon, suffering with salary is somehow considered stability.

And deep down, every worker knows one truth:

If laughter was not free, half the employees in this country would resign immediately.

04/06/2026

A woman takes h...
A woman takes her 16-year-old daughter to the doctor. The doctor says, "Okay, Mrs. Smith, what's the problem?"

The mother says, "It's my daughter Lynda. She keeps getting these cravings, she's putting on weight, and is sick most mornings."

The doctor gives Lynda a good examination, then turns to the mother and says, "Well, I don't know how to tell you this, but your Lynda is pregnant - about 4 months, would be my guess."

The mother says, "Pregnant?! She can't be, she has never ever been left alone with a man! Have you, Lynda?"

Lynda says, "No mother! I've never even kissed a man!"

The doctor walked over to the window and just stares out it. About five minutes pass and finally the mother says, "Is there something wrong out there doctor?"

The doctor replies, "No, not really, it's just that the last time anything like this happened, a star appeared in the east and three wise men came over the hill. I'll be darned if I'm going to miss it this time!"
👨🏾‍🦯

01/06/2026

There once was this deacon and this preacher, and they had been really good friends for a long time. Well, one day the deacon got sick and was taken to hospital, so the preacher decided to go and see his old friend. When he walked into the hospital room, the preacher noticed all the hoses and stuff they had going into the deacon. The preacher walked over and kneeled by the bed and asked, "How ya doing?" The deacon motioned at a pad and pen on the nightstand. "You want that?" the preacher asked him, and the deacon nodded his head yes. So the preacher handed his friend the pad and pen and the deacon began to write. All of a sudden the deacon died. At his funeral, the preacher was asked to deliver the service. "He was a good man and I'll never forget him," the preacher said, "I was with him when he died and as a matter of fact I have his last thought in my coat pocket here." The preacher reaches into his pocket and pulls out the paper. "Please, get up! You're kneeling on my oxygen hose!"

23/05/2026

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03/05/2026

Yong John from Bamenda — “Adulting is a Scam

I spent my entire childhood wishing I was older. Now I'm older and it sucks.

My name is Yong John, born and raised in Bamenda, and I have a confession: 8-year-old me was a fool.

Back then in Old Town, life was simple. My biggest problem was when my slippers cut and I had to drag one leg home like a wounded soldier. But did I enjoy it? No. I was busy telling God, “Papa God, make me grow fast so I can eat meat every day, watch TV till midnight, and nobody will flog me again.”

Fast forward to today. I’m older. And guess what? Adulting is a scam.
A: Meat
As a child, meat was for Christmas and when a rich uncle visited. I swore when I grow up I’d buy a whole goat and finish it alone. Now I’m grown. I can buy meat. But my stomach is now doing politics with me. One small piece of pork and my body starts filing petitions: heartburn, gas, “Why did you do this to us, John?” Childhood me betrayed me.
B: TV Till Midnight
I used to peep through neighbors’ windows to watch Nigerian movies. I told myself, “When I’m a man, I’ll watch till dawn.” Now Netflix, Canal+, YouTube — all are in my phone. But by 9:30pm, my eyes are closing like a faulty storefront. The only thing I’m watching till midnight is my ceiling, plus regrets.

*Exhibit C: Nobody Will Flog Me Again*
True, nobody flogs me. But life does. Eneo does. Landlord does. Rent does. Data finishes faster than childhood Christmas. Back then, if you cried, Mama would buy you puff-puff. Now if you cry, people will record you and post “Bamenda man suffering 😂.”

So here’s Yong John’s sweet Bamenda lifestyle now: I wake up, check my account balance, and laugh so I don’t cry. I go to Food Market, price pepper, argue with a woman selling garri like we’re at the UN, then buy small because “economy.” In the evening I sit at mile3 Nkwen with my friends, drinking Folere and telling stories about how we thought being adult was VIP access.

We’re all liars.

The funniest part? My small nephew now tells me, “Uncle John, I want to grow up fast like you.” I look at him, sip my Folere, and say, “Small boy, enjoy your cut slippers. Adult is overrated. When you grow up, your only superpower will be pretending you’re okay while calculating if 2,000frs can buy rice, oil, and happiness.”

I spent my entire childhood wishing I was older. Now I’m older, and I spend my adulthood wishing I could go back and warn that small John in Bamenda: “Bro, stay 10 years old. The only bill there is when Mama says ‘go and sweep the compound.’”

But since I can’t go back, I do the next best thing: I live like a big child. I still laugh too loud, I still play draught under the mango tree, and I still eat fufu biscuit with 33 Export and call it therapy.

Adulting sucks, yes. But being Yong John from Bamenda? That part still sweet. 😂
,👨🏾‍🦯

03/05/2026

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゚viralシ



Rem Marko
Yong Fru

01/05/2026

Yong Fru ゚ ゚viralシ ゚viralシfypシ゚

01/05/2026

23/04/2026

Bamenda: From Sweet Days, To Silent Streets, To Hope Rising Again.

Before 2016, Bamenda was that guy in the blazer — sharp, smiling, and moving with “Royal” energy. Food was cheap, taxis were plenty, and Friday evenings at Commercial Avenue smelled like roasted fish, MTN credit, and weekend plans. You could walk from Ntarikon to City Chemist laughing with friends, and the only thing you were afraid of was your mother calling your name from three quarters away. Back then, we had traffic, but it was the good kind — bikers fighting for passengers, not people fighting for peace.

School life was sweet. GBHS Bamenda, PCHS, — uniforms everywhere by 7 AM. Your biggest problem was dodging the discipline master or explaining why your homework ate your dog. After school, it was achombo at Food Market, then football at Big Mankon field till the sun begged you to go home. If you missed curfew, your punishment was not the world ending — it was your father’s face at the door saying, “So you’ve grown wings?” And somehow, that was scarier than anything on the news.

Business was moving. Tailors at Main Market were sewing wedding gowns on Wednesday for Saturday weddings. Mami selling cornchaff would finish two pots before 2 PM. Carpenters at Nitop were booked for months. If you said, “I’m going to Bamenda to hustle,” people nodded with respect. The only “lockdown” we knew was when Bayern Munich was playing and every TV at Commercial Avenue was surrounded by men who forgot they had shops to open.

Then 2016 came, and life hit the reverse button. The laughter at Commercial Avenue got quiet. Schools that used to burst with noise started sounding like libraries on exam day. Mondays became silent. Movement became calculation. The city that once wore a blazer and smiled like you in this photo had to fold its arms and watch. We learned new vocabulary we never prayed for. But even in that season, Bamenda people didn’t lose their spirit — we just moved it indoors. We became CEOs of quiet resilience.

The years were hard. Many left. Many stayed and held the ground with prayers and patience. Mama didn’t stop cooking, Papa didn’t stop hoping, and youths like you didn’t stop dreaming — even if the dream had to whisper for a while. We became experts at reading the mood of the town. If you saw a bike turn back fast, you turned too. No questions. That was our new Google Maps.

But thank God, the story didn’t end there. Slowly, like morning sun after a long night, Bamenda started breathing again. Schools reopened, and you could hear children shouting “Aunty!” again. Bikes returned to the roads with music from their speakers. Shops at Main Market started staying open past fear. Fridays are getting their noise back. These days, when you hear a crowd, it’s more likely to be a njangi meeting or a birthday, not bad news. That’s progress we don’t take for granted.

Look at you now — blazer on, “Royal” on your chest, smiling like someone who knows the worst is behind him. That’s Bamenda’s energy in 2026. We’re not fully where we want to be, but we’re no longer where we were. The city is dusting itself off, ironing its blazer, and stepping back outside. Farms are busy again. Weddings are loud again. And young people are planning futures here again, not just escape routes.

Moral lesson
1. A city, like a man, can go through seasons. Winter doesn’t cancel spring — it just prepares you to appreciate it more.
2. Peace is the real designer blazer. When a place has it, everybody looks good.
3. Never write off a place that knows how to smile through pain. Bamenda is proof that hope is stubborn.

From the sweet days, through the silent days, to these promising days — Bamenda is rising. And just like me in this photo, I am wearing “Royal” again. Not because life is perfect, but because we’ve remembered who we are 💐

It's Yong Fru On the beats 🎙️ keep following for more entertaining facts 🙌🏾