In the quiet corridors of Yaoundé’s power circles, whispers are growing louder. For over four decades, President Paul Biya has ruled Cameroon with a steady, unflinching grip. At 91, he is the world’s oldest sitting president and among its longest-serving leaders. His rule has outlasted the Cold War, survived multiparty opposition, endured two major civil crises, and outlived the rise and fall of dozens of African presidents. But now, something is shifting.
Two of Biya’s closest allies—longtime government loyalists—have stepped down and announced their intentions to contest the presidency. In a country where political succession has always been whispered about but never seriously discussed, this is akin to political thunder. For the first time in decades, the veneer of total control is cracking.
For the Cameroonian public, this isn’t just a political development. It’s a generational turning point. Most of the country’s 28 million citizens have never known another leader. Biya first became prime minister in 1975, then president in 1982. He’s overseen Cameroon through military coups, economic reforms, donor revolts, and constitutional amendments—most notably the 2008 change that scrapped presidential term limits. His reelections have been reliably sweeping and predictably controversial. Elections in Cameroon have long been criticized by international observers as lacking transparency, and opposition parties are routinely hobbled by state machinery.
Yet Biya’s grip on power has not only been about manipulation—it’s been about mastery. He governs through a curious style of “strategic absenteeism,” spending prolonged periods abroad, particularly in Geneva, while ruling through a trusted inner circle at home. That circle has remained tightly closed for decades. Until now.
The two high-profile resignations in June were not random. They were coordinated signals—chess moves on a long-neglected board. Though the would-be successors haven’t made overtly rebellious statements, their mere entry into the race sends a potent message: the post-Biya era is being shaped, perhaps even without his blessing.
What makes this moment so intriguing isn’t just the identity of the challengers, but the timing. Cameroon is grappling with deep national wounds. The Anglophone crisis in the northwest and southwest regions remains unresolved. Armed separatists continue to clash with military forces, and thousands of civilians have been displaced. Economic growth is sluggish. Corruption is rampant. Unemployment and youth frustration are dangerously high. Simply put, the country is ripe for political change—but deeply uncertain about how to achieve it without chaos.
Cameroon’s political institutions are not built for smooth transitions. The ruling Cameroon People’s Democratic Movement (CPDM) has long functioned as a rubber stamp for Biya’s will. The opposition, fragmented and underfunded, has struggled to gain traction. The military, while loyal, may not be monolithic forever. And there’s no clear constitutional mechanism for a peaceful handover should Biya suddenly exit the scene.
In that vacuum, the emergence of establishment insiders declaring presidential ambitions might be the only way to bridge the impossible gap between continuity and change. These are not revolutionaries—they are regime-adjacent figures who know the system, speak the language of the ruling elite, and could promise a form of stability palatable to both the international community and a weary populace.
But the risk is also real: a succession struggle within the ruling party could open the floodgates for broader political disorder. Cameroon has avoided the kind of dramatic post-leadership upheaval that plagued countries like Libya or Sudan, but that was largely because no one dared imagine a post-Biya Cameroon. Now, that fiction is unraveling.
Outside forces are paying attention. France, Cameroon’s former colonial ruler and longtime political patron, has maintained a close relationship with Biya’s government, often to the chagrin of human rights groups. The U.S. has been more critical, especially regarding abuses in the Anglophone regions, but has prioritized security cooperation in the Sahel region. For Western powers, the worst-case scenario is not a democratic revolution—but a destabilizing power vacuum.
Inside Cameroon, the mood is a mixture of anxiety and anticipation. Political satire and coded critiques have begun resurfacing in newspapers and social media. Youth groups are organizing cautious civic education campaigns. Older citizens recall past regimes with nostalgia and fear in equal measure. Many hope for reform without rupture—an orderly succession that brings in fresh leadership without igniting ethnic or regional tensions.
But hope, in Cameroon, is a dangerous thing. It has been stifled too many times to blossom easily now. The legacy of Biya’s long rule is not just institutional rigidity—it is a population trained to expect disappointment from politics.
Still, something has shifted. A new political grammar is being spoken in Yaoundé. The old rules may no longer hold. Paul Biya, once a symbol of indelible stability, may yet be remembered as the leader who held on too long—not because he couldn’t leave, but because no one dared to ask.
If he blinks, even once, the whole country might exhale—for better or worse.
