Yaoundé – Welcome back, patient patriots! In our last musing, we gently nudged the question of whether Cameroon’s decades-long “stability” was more akin to a comfortable coma. Today, let’s peel back another layer of this enduring enigma, one that glitters tantalizingly yet leaves us perpetually poorer: our famed natural resources. Specifically, that black gold beneath our soil – oil.
Ah, oil! The very word conjures images of prosperity, development, gleaming infrastructure. In Cameroon, however, it seems to have conjured… well, less. Much, much less, than it should have. For decades, our oil revenues have performed a disappearing act so spectacular, Houdini himself would applaud. The IMF, the World Bank, and various analysts have all scratched their heads, wondering where billions – yes, billions – of dollars in oil revenue simply evaporated to. It’s almost as if the crude, once extracted, develops legs and a preference for offshore accounts, bypassing national budgets faster than a politician avoids accountability.
Our ruling party, the venerable CPDM (or RDPC, for those who prefer their acronyms in French), has mastered this particular sleight of hand. Their slogan, “rigour and moralisation,” sounds delightful, doesn’t it? One can almost imagine stern-faced officials diligently counting every franc. The reality, sadly, has been more “rigour” in suppressing dissent and “moralisation” for themselves. It’s a leadership truly dedicated to its craft: the art of the long, comfortable reign, ensuring that the “government of the elderly for the elderly” continues to provide excellent employment opportunities for… the elderly. And their families. And their associates. Anyone, it seems, but the disillusioned youth gazing at pipelines leading not to prosperity, but to perplexing voids.
But let us not cast all our sardonic gaze solely on those currently basking in the presidential glow. Oh no. The Cameroonian political stage offers a richer tapestry of enduring figures. Consider the “other old people,” those distinguished gentlemen who, after years – often decades – of dutiful service as presidential advisors, ministers, or loyal party cadres, have suddenly, miraculously, discovered the fire of opposition within their seasoned souls. It’s like watching a tortoise decide, after 40 years, that it’s actually a hare and intends to win a race.
These newfound champions of change, many of whom were central architects of the very system they now purport to oppose, emerge with declarations of “widespread calls for change.” One almost expects a collective gasp of surprise from their former colleagues. “You mean, the system we helped build and maintain for so long, the one that kept us in power and comfort, might actually be… flawed?” It’s a sudden, convenient epiphany, often timed perfectly for the approach of another election, or perhaps, for when they realize their own slice of the national cake is shrinking.
They’ll tell you about stifled progress and paralyzed institutions – truths they observed firsthand, from the very top, for decades, without, shall we say, vocal objection. Their sudden ambition, rather than a genuine yearning for national rebirth, often feels more like a tactical maneuver in the perpetual game of musical chairs played by Cameroon’s political elite. The music stops, everyone scrambles, and somehow, the same old faces just keep finding a seat, even if it’s at the opposition table, eyeing the main stage.
So, dear Cameroonians, as we consider the future, the question isn’t just about replacing the old guard with… the same old guard, just with a different party badge. It’s about demanding true accountability for our vanishing wealth. It’s about insisting on a leadership that sees our resources not as a private inheritance, but as the collective birthright of every Cameroonian. It’s about finding leaders – truly new leaders – who understand that the nation’s potential is not a personal ATM, but a sacred trust.
Otherwise, we risk another four decades of “stability,” characterized by the perplexing disappearance of our patrimony, and the enduring sight of the same old faces, perhaps with a few more wrinkles, still trying to explain why the well is dry.