Welcome back, fellow compatriots and global onlookers! If our previous editions (Edition 1, Edition 2, Edition 3), dissected the curious case of Cameroon’s unending political ‘stability’ and the phantom act of our national wealth, today we turn to the most poignant casualty of this prolonged stasis: our youth. The vibrant, educated, and increasingly frustrated generation trapped in a cycle manufactured by a political class that seems perpetually stuck in a time warp.
Imagine being born into a nation overflowing with potential, yet consistently told your place is either in the underbelly of the informal sector or, preferably, on a one-way ticket to ‘greener pastures’ abroad. That’s the bitter reality for countless young Cameroonians. Our universities churn out graduates with degrees in hand, only for them to join the swelling ranks of the unemployed or underemployed. We boast a youthful population, a demographic dividend, yet it feels more like a demographic ticking time bomb, ticking towards despair rather than prosperity. Why? Because the ‘experience’ of our leadership hasn’t translated into opportunities, just… well, more experience. In inaction.
And who is the chief architect of this generational paralysis? Still, President Paul Biya. While leaders across the continent, from Senegal’s Macky Sall, who respected term limits, to Liberia’s Ellen Johnson Sirleaf, who gracefully exited after two terms, have either stepped aside or been pressured to allow new blood, our President, at 91, remains an unmoving monument. One might almost applaud his sheer stamina, were it not for the fact that this longevity has come at the steep price of stifling an entire nation. While other African nations are experimenting with youthful cabinet members and dynamic, tech-savvy approaches, our highest echelons remain comfortably populated by those whose political careers predate the internet. It’s almost as if they believe innovation is a foreign concept, best left to countries where leaders aren’t still holding onto power from before the Berlin Wall fell.
Then there are the loyalists of the CPDM, the veritable old boys’ club who form the bedrock of this enduring system. Think of our various ministers and high-ranking officials who have shuffled from one portfolio to another for decades, accruing titles and assets with commendable consistency. We’re told these are the experienced hands guiding the nation. Yet, despite their ‘experience,’ our infrastructure remains inadequate, our public services creaky, and our healthcare system perpetually in need of a miracle. These are the individuals who applaud the President’s ‘vision’ while allegedly overseeing ministries where ‘transparency’ is a concept as mythical as a unicorn. They’ve perfected the art of serving the system that serves them, ensuring that the gravy train never derails, even if the tracks lead nowhere. Their comparison to peers in other nations often falls flat; while other countries grapple with transitions and reforms, our entrenched bureaucrats cling on, seemingly oblivious to the ticking clock, or perhaps, simply content with their golden parachutes.
And let us not forget our peculiar brand of opposition. The “old guard opposition,” represented by figures like Maurice Kamto and Joshua Osih, who have been crying foul about elections for what feels like geological ages. While their complaints of fraud are, regrettably, often valid, one must ask: what then? After election after election, after countless press conferences detailing irregularities, what exactly is the endgame beyond perpetually being the ‘also-rans’? While genuine opposition movements in countries like Kenya or Nigeria have at least forced some shifts or united to present credible threats, our Cameroonian version seems content to remain fragmented, engaging in more squabbles amongst themselves than cohesive action against the ruling power.
Mr. Osih, for instance, has been described as a “moderate,” so moderate he reportedly manages the President’s travel logistics and is “well-connected within ruling circles.” It’s almost as if he’s offering a gentler, less disruptive version of opposition, one that won’t make anyone in power spill their morning coffee. And Mr. Kamto, for all his intellectual prowess and passionate appeals, can’t seem to unite the opposition for love or money, allowing the regime to merrily divide and conquer. The youth look at this spectacle and wonder: is this truly the best we can do? Are these the “alternatives” to four decades of stagnation? It’s like being offered a choice between a vintage, rusty car and a slightly newer, but still incredibly slow, model – when what we desperately need is a rocket ship.
The impact of this political inertia on our youth is devastating. They are fleeing our shores, not just for ‘greener pastures,’ but often simply for any pasture that offers a semblance of opportunity, dignity, and a future. Doctors, engineers, teachers, the very brains we need to rebuild, are voting with their feet, leaving behind a nation that invested in their education only to fail them at home. The ‘brain drain’ is less a trickle and more a deluge, leaving behind a sense of hopelessness for those who remain.
Cameroon stands at a crossroads, but our leaders, both in power and ‘opposition,’ seem to prefer gazing into the rearview mirror. It’s time for a radical, unequivocal shift. Not just a change of faces, but a dismantling of a system that has enriched a few while impoverishing the many and silencing the dreams of an entire generation. It’s time for our youth to demand more than just tired rhetoric and predictable outcomes. It’s time they reclaim their future, before it, too, vanishes like our oil wealth.
This concludes our series on Cameroon’s political landscape. Your Pained Patriot hopes these musings ignite the fire for genuine, transformative change.