In secondary school, Theo hated chemistry because his Francophone teacher barely spoke English, and when the confused students asked questions, the teacher flogged them, while swearing at them in French. Once, Francophone police officers stopped a bus that Theo was traveling on and singled out English-speakers, harassing them, calling them “Anglo-fools.” Theo’s uncle learned French and tried to pass as Francophone to get a job in Yaoundé, the capital.

Like many Cameroonians from both regions who suffer the bribe-seeking incompetence of government bureaucracy, Theo’s father, a court registrar, was not paid his pension after he retired. Theo traveled with him to Yaoundé to inquire about the money. There, in a Civil Service office, his father spoke English. The official responded in French. “This is a bilingual country and if you are employed in this position you should be able to speak English and French,” his father said. (Theo adds, “My father was a bit of a troublemaker.”) Perhaps Theo’s father was tired of the malaise of marginalization, of feeling like a second-class citizen in his own country; perhaps he thought he could speak his mind with no consequences. But his pension was never paid. When he died, his extended family, who depended financially on him, was bereft.

Theo wanted opportunity; he wanted choices. It was 2000, and there was great demand in China for teachers of English, as part of the Chinese passport to the world initiative. Theo responded to an online job advertisement. He was surprised to get an offer. With money saved from a small trade in rice and beans, he secured a visa and bought a ticket to China.

There, he taught English. He learned Mandarin. He fell in love with Libby, her elegance, her intelligence, her quiet confidence. They bonded over their shared Christianity. They had a daughter. When Libby got pregnant again, they worried about the price they would have to pay for violating the one-child policy. They desperately wanted the baby. And so they came to America as asylum seekers.

While Theo navigated the labyrinth of America’s asylum process, his home in Anglophone Cameroon was splintering. Teachers were on strike, protesting the imposition of French-speaking teachers on Anglophone schools. Anglophone lawyers wearing their white curly wigs poured into the streets to demand change. Cameroon has two often-conflicting legal systems, English common law in the Anglophone region and the French civil code in the Francophone. Francophone judges had long been employed in Anglophone courts, and the lawyers who had to argue cases before befuddled judges had had enough. Ordinary citizens joined the protests. They wanted autonomy. They wanted teachers who spoke English and judges who were trained in the law of the land.

In response, in 2 016, the government unleashed an astonishing wave of violence. Protesters were tear-gassed. Soldiers shot into crowds. Scores of civilians were reported murdered . Women were raped. Villages were set on fire, and people who previously had homes became refugees overnight.

Most Anglophones had only demanded autonomy, but against the glare of state violence, the movement for independence, which had been considered fringe and insignificant, suddenly seemed legitimate.