Cameroonian President Paul Biya—92 years old and in power since 1982—remains the overwhelming favorite to secure re-election in this Sunday’s presidential election. In the likely event of his victory, he will be 99 by the end of his new seven-year mandate. His refusal to step aside or designate a successor has fueled fears of impending political chaos in the country.
Biya’s public appearances have become increasingly rare, sparking constant speculation about his health. He lives in near-seclusion, splitting his time between his native village of Mvomeka’a, 110 miles (180 km) from the capital, Yaoundé, and Geneva, where he frequently rests and undergoes medical treatment. Access to the president is strictly limited to a handful of close aides; even Cabinet ministers are largely shut out.
When his candidacy was announced via a post on X in July, some Cameroonians even joked online about whether Biya himself knew he was running. Yet even in his frail state, he managed a 20-minute speech at a campaign rally earlier this week in Maroua, the capital of the Far North region, where he declared, “The best is yet to come.”
A Foregone Conclusion
Nothing seems likely to prevent his victory. Cameroon’s presidential elections are decided in a single round: The candidate with the most votes wins. In 2018, Biya claimed 71 percent of the ballot, while his main challenger, Maurice Kamto, took just 14 percent. Kamto and his party, the Cameroon Renaissance Movement, or MRC, rejected those results and insist they were the rightful winners.
The dominance of Biya’s Cameroon People’s Democratic Movement, combined with the control wielded by the official electoral commission, leaves little room for genuine competition at the polls. None of the regional and international observer missions consider the elections in Cameroon to be credible. Even Bello Bouba Maigari, a longtime minister under Biya who resigned this June to run against his former boss, has acknowledged that past votes—including the 2018 contest—were rigged.
“The conditions for a fair election simply aren’t there,” says Marie-Emmanuelle Pommerolle, a political scientist specializing in Cameroon at the Pantheon-Sorbonne University in Paris. Electoral bodies are tightly controlled by the ruling elite, while “civil society groups—particularly human rights organizations—have endured relentless harassment for years.”
Journalists, too, face intimidation. In 2023, prominent broadcaster Martinez Zogo was found dead, his body mutilated and bearing signs of torture, after he exposed major corruption scandals. The trial over his killing has stalled, with intelligence officials among the main suspects. Dozens of journalists have fled the country in recent years, many of them after Zogo’s murder.
A Fragmented Opposition
A candidate that could unify the country’s anti-Biya forces might pose a threat to his reelection, but divisions among the opposition run deep. The electoral commission rejected Kamto’s candidacy on questionable legal grounds. Heavyweights such as Bouba Maigari and another former minister, Issa Tchiroma Bakary, refuse to stand aside for each other. And Kamto himself has declined to endorse anyone else.
“This mistrust among opposition figures is carefully fostered by those in power,” Pommerolle notes. “It is difficult to organize when you represent a threat to the regime, trapped between co-optation and repression.”
Cameroon’s opposition figures are resigned to this reality. For them, the goal is less about winning than strategically positioning themselves and gaining leverage for the post-Biya era.
End of an Era
Despite the near-certainty of Biya’s re-election, a sense of twilight hangs over his presidency. The resignations of Bouba Maigari and Tchiroma Bakary—two influential figures from Cameroon’s three northern regions, which together are home to more than a third of the electorate—signal shifting allegiances. “Their departure reflects pressure from their constituencies, who see no more benefit in aligning with the regime,” says Guibai Gatama, founder of the newspaper L’Œil du Sahel (The Eye of the Sahel).
This weekend’s election will be little more than a formality. The real contest will begin when Biya’s long rule finally comes to an end.
Despite being rich in votes, the northern regions have long felt neglected by the central government, receiving only minimal infrastructure investment. This, along with his opponents’ base of support in the north, is likely why Biya chose to make a rare campaign appearance there.
Even within the government, enthusiasm is muted. Just days before Biya announced his candidacy, government spokesperson René-Emmanuel Sadi publicly admitted there was only a “50 percent” chance the president would run again.
The Catholic Church, a powerful moral authority in Cameroon, has openly urged him to step down and allow a peaceful democratic transition. One exasperated Cameroonian bishop expressed openness to any alternative: “Even the devil—let him take power first, and we’ll see!”
Meanwhile, ordinary Cameroonians appear resigned, choosing caution over confrontation after years of violent crackdowns as they quietly wait for Biya’s passing. The rejection of Kamto’s candidacy sparked little public reaction. The last major protests, in 2020, led to hundreds of arrests. Around 30 senior officials from Kamto’s MRC party have remained behind bars since then.
A Crumbling State
With Biya largely absent, rival factions effectively govern the country. Political maneuvering dominates, while public policy languishes. Once one of Central Africa’s more promising economies, Cameroon now struggles with failing infrastructure and mismanagement. Roads are in disrepair, including the key highway that connects Yaoundé with the country’s economic hub, Douala. Electricity cuts are frequent even in major cities. Much of the public revenue required for infrastructure investment is siphoned off by the ruling elite.
The governing class is ossified. Beyond Biya, the president of the Constitutional Council is 84, the speaker of parliament 85, and the army’s chief of staff 86. Four ministers have died in office in recent years without being replaced.
Peripheral regions are plagued by poverty and insecurity. Boko Haram militants and criminal gangs operate in the Far North, while separatist militias remain active in the Anglophone west. Though contained geographically, these crises remain unresolved.
What Comes Next?
Despite Biya’s advanced age, there is no known succession plan. A dynastic handover to his son, Franck, was once rumored but now seems unlikely. Proposals to designate a vice president have also been shelved amid infighting among ruling factions and Biya’s refusal to delegate authority.
“Clearly naming a successor would have allowed this successor to build alliances and prepare for a smooth transition,” says Gatama. “But for Biya, that would mean surrendering authority. He ran again because he intends to govern until his mandate—or his strength—runs out.”
When Biya dies or becomes incapacitated, a scramble for power will ensue. Senior regime figures may compete in it, depending on support from the security apparatus. The military itself also could intervene, inspired by recent coups in neighboring Francophone countries. Though Cameroon has seen no coup attempt since 1984, such a move might not be unwelcome among a weary population.
Since that failed coup four decades ago, “Biya has maintained an implicit pact with the army: in exchange for generous privileges, it stays out of politics,” says Gatama. “Cameroon is one of the few African states where military officers do not occupy ministerial or ambassadorial posts.” But this balance could collapse once Biya is gone. And in a sign of growing mistrust, Biya quietly reshuffled the military leadership after the coup in neighboring Gabon in 2023.
Ultimately, this weekend’s election will be little more than a formality. The real contest will begin when Biya’s long rule finally comes to an end—an uncertain moment that could usher in a period of heightened instability for Cameroon.
Tangi Bihan is a journalist based in Conakry, Guinea, where he is a correspondent for Radio France Internationale (RFI). He also writes for Afrique XXI and Le Monde diplomatique. The views expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial stance of this publication.
