Every evening, I would gather with my late grandparents around the fireside, where their stories wove a tapestry of history and memory. This ritual was a clever ploy to keep me awake for dinner—too often, my playful spirit would lead me to doze off before my meal, which my grandparents could not abide. The crackling fire wrapped us in its warm embrace, its flickering light dancing across our faces as we shared tales that felt almost alive.

Among the many stories they shared, the tale of the theft of the statue of our goddess Ngonnso by the Germans was a somber masterpiece in their repertoire. Unlike the others, their tone would shift to one of mourning whenever they recounted this story. Ngonnso is the founder of the Kingdom of Nso, located in the grassland area of southwestern Cameroon. She established the kingdom following a violent succession dispute with her two brothers, and in her honor, an elaborate wooden statue covered with cowrie shells and standing nearly a meter tall was created as a symbol of hope and peace. This treasured artifact was stolen in 1902, however, and donated to the Ethnological Museum of Berlin in 1903 by Kurt von Pavel, severing the Nso people’s connection to their founder. Pavel, a German colonial officer, is reported to have killed at least 1,300 people in the grassland area of Cameroon during his military operations, taking nearly 500 individuals as prisoners.

Whenever this story was shared, my grandparents would recount the Germans’ brutal treatment of the Nso indigenes. My grandmother would hum a sorrowful tune in our dialect (Lamnso) while stirring corn flour in a large pot, a song she said was sung by Nso indigenes during their forced labor for the Germans. The lyrics recount the horrors of German rule, echoing the pain of our ancestors. My grandfather often spoke with unshed tears, constantly shaking his head and lamenting how even traditional rulers, revered as gods, were not spared from the maltreatment.

“Doh,” he would say after sniffing snuff—the very snuff I’d steal and sniff, causing me sneezes and dizzy spells. It seemed to inspire and relieve him. “We have never been defeated in war by any tribe,” he’d boast, “until the Germans came. Those white people had the support of tribes we had once defeated.” Had he not been bound by the old rulebook that men don’t cry, tears would’ve cascaded freely whenever he shared this story.

The Nso people were once a dominant kingdom, subjugating many tribes under their rule. But the arrival of the Germans abruptly ended their ambitions. My grandfather would always conclude with curses and express gratitude to the “English man” for defeating the Germans and expelling them from Cameroon; little did he realize that the so-called English man was also complicit in the looting of Cameroonian and African artifacts.

As a child, I couldn’t grasp why my grandparents were so emotionally invested in the story of what to me was a “mere” sculpture. However, as I matured and came to understand the spiritual significance of this artifact, I began to see it through their eyes.  As these narratives continue to be told today to children of my generation across Africa, most of these treasures regrettably  remain captive in museums outside of Africa.

A 2023 research article estimates that 40,000 objects from Cameroon are in German museums, a far cry from the roughly 6,000 pieces in the state collections in Yaoundé, the capital of Cameroon. The artifacts in Germany consist of musical instruments, ritual masks, textiles, manuscripts, weapons, and tools, many of which were acquired through violent raids. The research identifies at least 180 instances of “punitive expeditions” characterized by looting and destruction that occurred during 30 years of German colonial rule in Cameroon, from 1886 to 1916. It is a situation Maryse Nsangou Njikam, a cultural advisor at the Cameroonian embassy in Germany, describes as Germany being “full” and Cameroon “empty.”

While the generation of my grandparents felt helpless, perhaps because of the hangover of Europe’s brutal conquest of Africa, which they witnessed, the present generation has broken through the barriers and is actively demanding the restitution of Africa’s stolen artifacts. “The awakening among Cameroonians and Africans in general regarding restitution stems from the fact that we are in a technology-driven era,” explains Slyvie Verynuy Njobati, a Cameroonian restitution campaigner. Njobati emphasizes the role of social media in her Bring Back Ngonnso campaign. “Technology has contributed so much in creating awareness among Cameroonians and Africans about their looted artifacts,” she adds. From her perspective, Africans are on a mission to rediscover themselves, and the return of these artifacts is a way to reclaim their history and heritage, fostering a sense of unity and cultural revival. It marks another beginning, she says, in the process of  the “decolonization” of Africa. “You call us a dark and primitive continent,” she declares, “but our primitive arts are lighting up your museums and institutions. Africans can’t wrap their heads around this hypocrisy.”

Since the statue of Ngonnso was discovered for the first time at the Ethnological Museum in Germany in 1974 by a Nso intellectual, Bongasu Tanla Kishani, after it was stolen, efforts have been made to restitute the sculpture, predominantly led by men, but with no breakthroughs. Now, a young woman has stepped in, and despite current delays, the restitution of this artifact is within walking distance. “I am motivated when people tell me I cannot succeed; I simply go ahead and prove to them that I can,” Njobati states.

Njobati initially embarked on her restitution journey to fulfill her grandfather’s wish of restoring the same Ngonnso statue that my grandparents spoke to me about. She soon realized, however, that this desire extended beyond her grandfather; it resonated with many tribal groups in Cameroon and across Africa, whose artifacts remain locked away in museums and private collections in Europe and the Americas. In the time since, her vision has expanded, and she is focusing on the broader goal of restoring Cameroon and Africa’s stolen heritage items.

While the activist is satisfied with her accomplishments thus far, she regrets that the patriarchal structure of her kingdom and Cameroon as a whole has been an impediment to her journey. “As a woman, it has not been easy to lead this movement,” Njobati says. “People have undermined my efforts simply because I am a woman,” She adds, revealing that there have been individuals who have sought her life at various points.

In March 2024, Njobati, through her organization REGARTLESS, facilitated the return of eight looted Bangwa artifacts that were in private holdings and up for auction online in Germany and the Netherlands. The Bangwa, a tribal group in southwestern Cameroon, were among those who fiercely resisted the German colonial conquest of Cameroon, though they ultimately fell under colonial rule at the barrel of a gun. The restitution of Bangwa heritage, Njobati says, is very significant “because it is the first restitution from the colonial context in Cameroon.” She goes on, her voice filled with a deep sense of accomplishment, “Watching the people connect to their artifacts upon return—the tears, the emotions, and the excitement—reminded us of the importance of the work we do as an organisation… I won’t sacrifice that moment for nothing.”

Germans looted these artifacts with impunity, disregarding their spiritual significance, but the consequences for the Bangwa people were profound. “The impact of the absence of these treasures… were very glaring: children died, crop yields dwindled over the years,” HRM Fon Asabaton, the king of the Bangwa people, stated regretfully during a public event in Yaoundé, Cameroon, to receive the returned artifacts. While the monarch remains hopeful that all the heritage items of his kingdom will one day be returned, he struggles to understand the fact that most of these artifacts are still callously exhibited. “What truly perplexes me is how these handlers of stolen goods can shamelessly exhibit our precious artifacts without any guilt,” he says. The scope of the issue throughout the continent cannot be understated: according to estimates, up to 90 percent of African art is located outside the continent. In Europe and the US alone, more than 500,000 pieces are on display in museums and private collections.

But more significantly, this milestone has, according to Njobati, opened another complex layer in the journey to restore Cameroon’s cultural heritage. “If these heritage items are sold online,” Njobati cries out, “then we are missing the bigger picture.” She emphasizes that beyond exploitation in the museum economy, profiting off prized cultural artifacts in the black market continues to be a profitable enterprise. “Instead of holding only institutions accountable,” she says, “we need to also hold the dark web and dark web traffickers accountable.”

While there is victory on the Bangwa front, the battle to bring back Ngonnso, which motivated Njobati’s restitution journey, has stalled. Njobati describes the delays she has encountered in the restitution of the goddess’s statue, for which she has fiercely campaigned over the years, as a “political setup.” In mid-2022, the Prussian Cultural Heritage Foundation, the organization that oversees Berlin’s major museums, promised to return the Ngonnso statue, but more than two years later, nothing has happened.

“The delay to physically return Ngonnso and other heritage is reopening wounds and pain we had all thought would be healed soon,” REGARTLESS writes on its X account. “We approached Germany despite being the victims, we didn’t ask for too much but our heritage.”  “Here we are,” the post continues, “gradually getting back to the depression, to the reality that no one is really willing to match words and signed documents with actions.”

To facilitate the return of Cameroon’s plundered artifacts, the government has established a restitution commission. While Njobati appreciates the government’s push in the restitution process, she regrets that its involvement has unfortunately slowed the process of restituting Ngonnso, given that the government “has this big vision of many more heritage items to come home, apart from Ngonnso.” She believes that the restitution of these artifacts, including Ngonnso, would be faster if the concerned communities took the

lead with minimal government intervention. “If restitution was left to communities and their leaders to negotiate the return of artifacts, we could have been celebrating at least a hundred returns today,” she says, lamenting that Ngonnso, which literally translates as “Mother of the Nso,” may return to Cameroon no sooner than late 2025.

Not everyone in the restitution community holds the same perspective as Njobati, however. Hugues Heumen Tchana, the chair of the commission to restitute Cameroon’s stolen artifacts, says negotiations with Germany regarding the return of cultural artifacts “is the state’s responsibility, not that of individuals.” He claims that restitution campaigners like Njobati are primarily driven by self-interest, rather than a genuine commitment to the cause. Njobati, however, insists that her restitution mission is purpose-driven and free from any trappings of self-interest. She also emphasizes that the government’s powers regarding the issue should be clearly defined, and it should know when to intervene and when not to.

In late 2017, French President Emmanuel Macron pledged in a speech in Burkina Faso to return African patrimony held in French museums. “I want to move toward allowing for the temporary or definitive restitution of African cultural heritage to Africa,” he declares. Four years after this pledge—which many, including this writer, took with a pinch of salt—Macron took action by returning 26 artifacts to the West African country of Benin, marking the beginning of the process.

A year later in neighboring Nigeria, Germany returned 21 bronzes that were looted and sold to it, about 125 years ago by the British. However, when the then President of Nigeria Muhammadu Buhari decided to hand these pieces to the traditional ruler of the Kingdom of Benin, from where they were looted, instead of keeping them in government custody, it caused outrage in Germany.

While the outrage was expected, given that the initial understanding with Germany was that the artifacts would be kept by the government in a museum, it raised a fundamental question of who should decide the fate of Africa’s restituted artifacts. More importantly, it brought to the forefront the flawed argument of  European nations that continue to prolong the retention of African looted artifacts due to the perceived inability of Africans to care for them.

At the opening of the Humboldt Forum in Berlin, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Nigerian writer and social activist, offered her insights on this fundamental debate, arguing that “it does not matter whether Africans or Asians or Latin Americans can take care of the arts stolen from them; what matters is that it is theirs.” Adichie chastised Germany, like other Western nations, for preaching the rule of law while practicing the contrary. “A nation that believes in the rule of law,” she declares, “cannot possibly be debating whether to return stolen goods, it just returns them.” Just like Adichie, Njobati finds the argument that Africans are not capable of taking care of their artifacts ridiculous. “Before colonial times,” she says, “our artifacts lived for hundreds of years; the ones that were not taken [by the Europeans] are still living up till today… even if we can not take care of them, they still belong to us.”

Around mid-2023, the Ethnological Museum in Berlin returned 23 cultural objects to Namibia on loan. This sparked widespread criticism across the board, but the Prussian Cultural Heritage Foundation insisted that the term “loan” was chosen for bureaucratic reasons and that the loan is a permanent one. Interestingly, around this time, the Prussian Cultural Heritage Foundation also pledged to return Ngonnso and several Tanzanian heritage items. However, Ngonnso remains housed at the Humboldt Forum in Berlin. The question of where the sculpture will be kept upon its return to Cameroon remains unanswered. Its natural home,

Kumbo, the capital of the Nso people, is significantly impacted by a bloody civil war, now referred to as the Anglophone Crisis. A replica of Ngonnso sits abandoned at the center of an empty palace in Kumbo, and Sehm Mbinglo I, the king of Nso, now lives in exile in Yaoundé, the political capital of Cameroon as a result of the civil war. This civil war is a sad reminder of the enduring consequences of colonialism, the effects of which continue to haunt Cameroon, a former German colony that was partitioned between Britain and France after World War I.

Where Ngonnso will be kept isn’t a major concern for Njobati, however. All she wants now is for the goddess of her people to come back home. “Where Ngonnso will go when it returns and its safety is no longer within my sphere of influence,” she says, adding that the King (also known as Fon) of Nso and his traditional council will decide.

Njobati would die a fulfilled woman if the sculpture of Ngonnso finally returns home, and she has dedicated her life to seeing it come true—a homecoming that our grandparents have lamented for multiple lifetimes. As momentous as this occasion would be, it is still one of 500,000 looted African artifacts—an indication of just how far we have to go to reclaim what has been rightfully stolen.