The Weight of the Crown: Royalty Redefined

When asked what it truly means to be royal in a nation torn by crisis, Princess Prudence offers no romanticized narrative. "Royalty is a privilege and a responsibility," she explains, her voice carrying the measured cadence of someone who has thought deeply about identity and obligation. "Every royalty is a leader. We are born leaders, and we have territories to lead, communities to lead, people to lead."

But leadership, she insists, is not merely a noun—it requires constant action to "meet up that standard." This accountability framework shapes everything she does. Unlike the distant monarchies of European tradition, African royalty in the Bafut context is intimately communal. The palace is not isolated from the people; it is the people's heart. And when that heart is wounded by conflict, royalty must be the first to bleed alongside its community.

Her father, King Abumbi II, instilled this philosophy early. Leadership in the Bafut tradition is understood as a "right of passage"—the elderly hand down leadership rights to the youth, creating an unbroken chain of responsibility. When crisis struck, Princess Prudence understood that her moment had arrived not as a ceremonial transition but as a baptism by fire.

A Crisis the World Forgot

The Anglophone Crisis in Cameroon's Northwest and Southwest regions has raged for over a decade. The numbers are stark: more than 3,000 lives lost, over 7,000 displaced, entire communities scattered into forests and makeshift camps. Yet this catastrophe rarely penetrates international headlines. When global networks do cover Cameroon, Princess Prudence observes, they capture only fragments—what their correspondents can access and transmit.

"There are actually some inaccessible indigenous communities where media representatives do not have information about the happenings," she explains. Remote areas remain invisible. Families surviving in bushes, having fled beautiful homes, live stories that no correspondent has recorded. "It takes courage for you to leave your zone, going to the bush to such an internally displaced person to interview."

This media blindness has profound consequences. Without visibility, there is no global pressure. Without global pressure, there is no accountability. Without accountability, crises become permanent conditions rather than urgent emergencies. Princess Prudence's media strategy—embedding storytelling infrastructure into her development model—directly addresses this deficit.

Broken, Then Rebuilt

She does not pretend the journey began with confidence. "At first I was broken," she admits. "Every human is sensitive emotionally. Seeing the devastating situation... my mind was broken mentally, spiritually, emotionally, and physically." The crisis arrived without warning—"like a drama, not something that we were expecting."

But Princess Prudence draws on a proverb that has become her operational philosophy: "A journey of a thousand miles starts with a step." She took that step despite doubt, despite uncertainty, despite not knowing if her approaches would work. The results, she discovered, were "wonderful." Each challenge became an opportunity. Each limitation transformed into strength through sheer persistence and adaptive learning.

Youths and the Future: Building Hope in the Fire

Princess Prudence's organization, Youths and the Future, operates on a fundamental premise: young people in conflict zones need more than survival—they need purpose. "A society, an Africa, a country without youths is a country with no hope," she states. "The future of every country or nation lies in the hands of the youths."

How do you convince a young person in a war zone that they have a future? It starts with presence. "We paint pictures that there is a need for these youths to remain hopeful as long as they are alive," Princess Prudence explains. She deploys proverbs as psychological infrastructure: "I am because you are. Together we are stronger. You are not alone."

The organization targets both literate and illiterate communities—the former through journalism and media training, the latter through hands-on craft and vocational work. "Our ancestors were not lettered," Princess Prudence notes. "They did not go to school, but they kept information. They handed down information through craft, through symbols that experts study to derive meaning." This respect for multiple forms of knowledge transmission informs every program design.

The Royals Echo Village: A Monument for Tomorrow

The centerpiece of Princess Prudence's vision is the Royals Echo Village Bafut—a pioneering project designed to bridge indigenous wisdom and modern technology in a sustainable, revenue-generating center. This is not a museum frozen in nostalgia. It is a living laboratory for regenerative education, cultural exchange, and economic empowerment.

The vision is comprehensive: permaculture gardens demonstrating indigenous cultivation methods. Workshops on food preservation using natural leaves rather than plastics. Cultural immersion programs where visitors learn traditional cooking, dance, and craft. Conference facilities for global exchange. Talent showcases for African youth. And critically—media infrastructure that transforms the center into a storytelling hub with multiple revenue streams.

The Investment Thesis

Princess Prudence frames the Echo Village not merely as philanthropy but as sound investment. When asked why a major investor should choose this over a Silicon Valley startup, she pivots to sustainability and replicability. The center will generate revenue through cultural tourism, educational programs, and media production. It will employ community members directly while training others to launch their own enterprises. It will create content that attracts global attention and ongoing support.

"If 10 or five people are trained, after that they set up their own businesses," she explains. "Those 10 or five people employing one person at a time will already be equivalent to 10 job opportunities created." The multiplier effect compounds. The model scales. And unlike extractive charity models, this approach builds permanent capacity within the community.

King Abumbi II has pledged partnership once the structure is established, connecting the Echo Village to the existing UNESCO World Heritage-recognized Bafut Palace. "We are going to partnership with the Bafut Royal Palace and we see how we can make Bafut and Cameroon and Africa as a whole great again."

Self-Expression as Liberation

When offered the hypothetical power to enact one global law helping internally displaced persons everywhere, Princess Prudence doesn't hesitate: freedom of self-expression. "Expressing yourself is healing," she explains. "A problem shared is a problem half solved. Self-expression holds 80% of the solution that we need in the world."

This insight connects to her broader media strategy. Storytelling is not ancillary to development—it is development. When displaced youth share their experiences, they process trauma while simultaneously educating the world. When African voices control their own narratives, they combat the stereotypes that have made the continent "feel intimidated... like we were voiceless... like we were nobody."

A Message to the Forgotten

Near the conversation's end, Princess Prudence addresses refugees and displaced persons directly—those who might be watching on a shared phone in a camp somewhere, feeling invisible. Her words carry the weight of someone who has stayed when she could have left, who has chosen solidarity over safety:

"Firstly, they are alive. There is hope. Dreams come to an end the day you are buried. No matter your situation, you have not been forgotten. Even if we cannot support you materially, in prayers we have you in mind, in our thoughts... Stay strong and maintain your peace. I'm not alone. We are together and together we are stronger. Never forget: you are because I am."

And then, perhaps most movingly: "Money is only valuable when we have people. Material things have value when we have people. Our value is you and not this physical material things... Even the artificial intelligence robots that they are implementing now—they do not have blood flowing through their lungs. They have batteries. This is to make you understand that you are special. You are unique. You are loved. You are not forgotten. There is no one like you."

The Future Written in Leaves

As the interview concludes—interrupted briefly by the very connectivity challenges Princess Prudence has described—she returns to a striking image. In Bafut tradition, the traditional meal called "achu" must be wrapped in leaves before serving. Plastic is never used. This practice ensures both health and cultural continuity. "What brings up that notion that it is our traditional meal is when it is wrapped with the leaves."

This small culinary detail contains multitudes. It speaks to a worldview where tradition is not performed for tourists but lived as daily practice. Where health and culture intertwine. Where sustainability is not a buzzword but an inheritance from ancestors who understood, long before the climate crisis, that some things should never be plastified.

Princess Abumbi Prudence is not building a theme park of African nostalgia. She is constructing a future where "even in 100 years to come, we will continue to make people understand that we are who we are as Africans. Your roots are your foundation. Your culture is your identity. Hold on to this. You can add as many things as you want, but never abandon your origin."

The interview ends abruptly when the internet fails—a final reminder of the infrastructure gaps that make this work so difficult and so necessary. But the princess has already delivered her message. In a world of algorithmic disruption and AI anxiety, her vision offers something radical: progress that remembers where it came from, innovation that serves community, and royalty that shows up in the trenches.

The Royals Echo Village is not yet built. But in the words, the plans, and the relentless presence of Princess Abumbi Prudence, its foundations are already being laid—one conversation, one connection, one act of stubborn hope at a time.