In the heart of Central Africa, Cameroon stands at a crossroads unlike any it has witnessed in four decades. The 2025 presidential election has transformed into something far more profound than a simple vote count. Instead, it has become a national conversation about power, aging leadership, and whether democracy can still deliver the change that millions desperately seek.
At the center of this historic moment sits President Paul Biya, who at 92 years old represents not just Africa’s oldest leader but also one of the world’s longest-serving heads of state. Having held power since 1982, Biya has governed this nation of roughly 30 million people through seven consecutive terms. Moreover, his ability to maintain control has been facilitated by a 2008 constitutional amendment that eliminated presidential term limits, allowing him to seek yet another seven-year mandate that could potentially keep him in office until he turns 99.
The atmosphere surrounding this election carries an urgency that previous contests lacked. Throughout the campaign period, something fundamental shifted in the national mood. While Biya conducted a characteristically minimal public presence, appearing only briefly before retreating to his familiar pattern of extended stays in Europe, his challengers filled the void with promises of renewal. Opposition candidates crisscrossed the country, speaking to crowds hungry for transformation. In Maroua, where Biya held his sole campaign rally, only a few hundred supporters gathered. By contrast, when challenger Issa Tchiroma Bakary visited the same city, thousands poured into the streets, waving placards and chanting for change.
Tchiroma, a 79-year-old former government spokesman who served alongside Biya for two decades, represents perhaps the most formidable challenge to the incumbent’s authority. His decision to resign from the administration and join the opposition sent shockwaves through Cameroon’s political establishment. Furthermore, his campaign gained unexpected momentum, particularly in the northern regions where disillusionment with the status quo runs deep. His message resonated with citizens who have watched their country’s potential remain unfulfilled despite abundant natural resources and economic diversity.
The drama intensified dramatically two days after the October 12 vote. In a bold and controversial move, Tchiroma declared himself the winner through a social media address from his hometown of Garoua. Standing before the national flag, he urged Biya to concede defeat and praised what he called a clear mandate for change. His supporters immediately took to the streets in celebration, while others gathered outside his residence to shield him from potential arrest. This public display of protection symbolized something deeper: ordinary citizens attempting to safeguard not just a political figure but the fragile possibility of democratic transformation itself.
The government’s response was swift and stern. Minister of Territorial Administration Paul Atanga Nji had warned earlier that any unauthorized announcement of results would constitute high treason. Only the Constitutional Council, which has until October 26 to declare official results, possesses the authority to proclaim a winner. Nevertheless, both camps have circulated tally sheets across social media platforms, each claiming victory and fueling competing narratives about the election’s outcome.
This scenario echoes troubling precedents from Cameroon’s recent political history. During the 2018 presidential contest, opposition leader Maurice Kamto similarly declared victory ahead of official announcements. Subsequently, he was arrested, and his supporters faced violent dispersal by security forces wielding tear gas and water cannons. Dozens of his allies remain imprisoned years later, serving seven-year sentences for their participation in post-election protests. Kamto himself was barred from contesting the 2025 election, a decision that human rights organizations condemned as undermining electoral credibility.
The stakes extend far beyond individual ambitions or party politics. Cameroon’s youth, comprising more than 60 percent of the population, have grown increasingly restless watching their futures postponed by aging leadership and stagnant governance. With a median age of just 18 years, most Cameroonians have known only one president throughout their entire lives. Unemployment hovers around 35 percent in major cities, while approximately 40 percent of the population lives below the poverty line despite the country’s status as Central Africa’s most diversified economy. Young people complain about inadequate healthcare, poor quality education, lack of clean drinking water, and deteriorating infrastructure. These frustrations simmer on social media platforms, though they have not yet translated into the mass street protests seen in other African nations.
Additionally, the election unfolds against the backdrop of multiple crises that have plagued Cameroon for years. The Anglophone regions in the northwest and southwest have been engulfed in armed conflict since 2017, when peaceful protests by English-speaking lawyers and teachers were met with brutal force. What began as demands for reforms in the education and judicial sectors evolved into an armed separatist movement seeking independence for the region they call Ambazonia. More than 6,500 people have died in the fighting between government forces and separatist groups, while over 580,000 have been internally displaced. According to the United Nations, approximately 1.8 million people in these regions need humanitarian assistance, and roughly 250,000 children cannot attend school due to conflict-related closures.
Separatist groups imposed lockdowns to disrupt voting in Anglophone areas, shutting down schools, businesses, and roads to prevent campaign activities. Their actions forced thousands of residents to flee temporarily to French-speaking regions to escape potential violence on election day. For communities already traumatized by years of warfare, the hope persists that somehow the ballot might succeed where bullets have failed. Yet this hope mingles with deep skepticism born from watching previous promises of peace evaporate.
In Cameroon’s Far North region, another security crisis continues to claim lives. The Islamist armed group Boko Haram has intensified attacks, killing more than 3,000 Cameroonians and displacing approximately 250,000 people. Meanwhile, ethnic clashes over water and land resources along the border with Chad have added another layer of instability. Deadly floods in 2024 affected nearly half a million people in this already vulnerable area, compounding humanitarian needs.
Political analysts observe that this election differs from previous contests in significant ways. The campaign proved more energetic and competitive than usual, with opposition figures making numerous public appearances and drawing enthusiastic crowds. Some experts suggest that Biya emerged as the weakest candidate his ruling party could have fielded, given his advanced age and the deteriorating state of the country after 43 years under his leadership. His health has been the subject of persistent speculation, especially since he spends most of his time in Europe, leaving day-to-day governance to party officials and family members.
Nevertheless, skepticism about electoral fairness remains widespread. The ruling Cameroon People’s Democratic Movement controls all government institutions, including the electoral commission and judiciary. Independent observers have questioned the legitimacy of previous elections, leading opposition parties to boycott the 2020 legislative and municipal contests entirely. The system itself, critics argue, makes free and fair elections nearly impossible. Ballot counting proceeds slowly and opaquely, with multiple ballots instead of single ones complicating an already cumbersome process.
International attention to Cameroon’s political situation has been limited despite the severity of its multiple crises. The UN Security Council has held only one formal meeting about Cameroon, an informal Arria-formula session focused on humanitarian concerns in 2019. While Canada attempted to facilitate peace negotiations between the government and Anglophone separatists in early 2025, Cameroonian authorities publicly disavowed the initiative despite initially participating, claiming they had not mandated any third party to mediate. In June, the United States announced visa restrictions on individuals believed responsible for undermining peaceful resolution of the Anglophone crisis, though concrete impacts remain unclear.
Regional African organizations have remained notably silent, often siding with the Cameroonian government rather than pushing for reforms or investigating alleged atrocities. This reluctance reflects a broader continental pattern where longtime leaders receive protection from their peers rather than accountability. President Biya himself has rejected mediation attempts by former African presidents aimed at resolving the country’s various conflicts.
As polling stations closed and counting began, taxi drivers in Douala debated endlessly over radio updates. Older citizens expressed weary resignation, noting they had witnessed these cycles before: declarations, disputes, and ultimately continuity. However, younger voices countered with a different perspective, insisting that something fundamental has shifted this time. They point to the unexpected enthusiasm for opposition candidates, the boldness of Tchiroma’s victory claim, and the willingness of ordinary people to publicly defend their choice despite potential consequences.
The question haunting every conversation remains deeply consequential: What happens if meaningful change fails to materialize? If Biya emerges victorious again through the official count, many fear that Cameroon’s youth will abandon faith in democratic processes altogether. Already disillusioned by unemployment, corruption, and limited opportunities, young Cameroonians might conclude that the ballot box offers no viable path toward transformation. Such disillusionment could manifest in unpredictable ways, from increased emigration to civil unrest or deeper cynicism about civic participation.
Conversely, if Tchiroma’s claim of victory holds and the Constitutional Council validates it, Cameroon would face its most delicate political transition since gaining independence in 1960. The country has known only two presidents since that historic moment. A genuine transfer of power would require navigating complex institutional arrangements, managing potential resistance from entrenched interests, and addressing festering conflicts that have been ignored or mishandled for years. Success would demand not just new leadership but reformed institutions, restored trust between communities, and genuine commitment to inclusive governance.
The Cameroonian constitution contains provisions for succession should a sitting president die or step down while in office. In such scenarios, responsibilities would transfer to the Senate President, currently Marcel Niat Njifenji, who would be required to organize elections within 20 to 120 days. However, he would be prohibited from running himself or modifying the constitution or government composition. As a longtime ruling party member who has led the Senate since its creation in 2012, Njifenji would not be expected to oversee dramatic policy changes during any interim period.
Behind the scenes, nervous succession battles have reportedly unfolded within the ruling party as Biya’s mortality becomes increasingly impossible to ignore. Competing factions maneuver for advantage, calculating how to preserve their positions and privileges regardless of electoral outcomes. These internal dynamics add another layer of uncertainty to an already volatile situation.
Throughout all this turmoil, ordinary Cameroonians continue their daily struggles, trying to feed families, educate children, and build futures despite overwhelming obstacles. A young woman interviewed outside a Yaoundé polling station captured the prevailing sentiment succinctly. She spoke of expensive living costs, inadequate healthcare, terrible roads filled with potholes, and general deterioration. Consequently, she voted for the opposition, though she admitted having little confidence in the electoral process given the country’s track record. Still, she maintained hope, however fragile, that things might somehow be different this time.
As official results slowly emerge over the coming days and weeks, the world will witness whether Cameroon can peacefully navigate this critical juncture. The outcome will reverberate far beyond electoral statistics or party victories. It will determine whether a generation of young Cameroonians continues believing in democratic participation or concludes that power only yields to force. It will test whether institutions can function with integrity or remain captured by those who control them. Most fundamentally, it will reveal whether time itself can finally accomplish what ballots have repeatedly failed to achieve: ending one man’s hold on power and allowing a nation to imagine different possibilities.
In the markets of Douala, the churches of Bamenda, the cafes of Yaoundé, and the villages across Cameroon’s diverse landscapes, people are watching and waiting. They have watched before, through disappointment after disappointment. Yet something in the air feels different now, however subtly. Perhaps it is simply exhaustion giving voice to hope one more time. Perhaps it is recognition that even the longest reign must eventually conclude. Or perhaps it is the quiet determination of a people who have decided, despite everything, to continue believing that their voices might finally matter.
Whatever happens next, October 2025 will be remembered as the month when Cameroon suspended itself between memory and possibility. When a 92-year-old leader faced questions he could no longer dismiss about age, relevance, and legitimacy. When citizens protective of fragile dreams stood guard outside an opposition candidate’s home. When a nation exhausted by conflict, poverty, and broken promises dared once more to imagine that change might come not through violence but through the patient, persistent act of marking a ballot and demanding it be counted fairly.
The answer to Cameroon’s defining question remains unwritten. But the asking of it, loudly and publicly and courageously, represents its own form of transformation. In a country where silence has long been enforced and dissent punished, the conversation itself matters. Whether Paul Biya can be dethroned, and what happens if he cannot, will unfold in the weeks ahead. Yet regardless of the immediate outcome, something has already shifted. A tired nation has found its voice again, and having spoken, it will not easily be silenced.
