Growing up in Mvomeka’a, a small village in southern Cameroon, Paul Biya was a slight, intelligent boy who reportedly depended on his older brother and cousins for protection. Now 92, Mr. Biya has done more than outlast those early struggles. He has risen to hold sway over Cameroon, a nation of over 28 million people — perhaps, in some way, proving a point to those who underestimated him long ago.
Mr. Biya is far from done. On Sunday, after a staggering 43 years in office, he competes for his eighth term as president. “My determination to serve you is commensurate with the serious challenges facing us,” he declared on X this summer when announcing his candidacy for the election. “The best is yet to come.” For many Cameroonians, suffering some of the worst misrule in Africa, this is hard to believe.
Their skepticism is unlikely to matter: For Mr. Biya, victory is all but guaranteed. Yet the sheer longevity of Mr. Biya’s rule remains something of an enigma. Unlike Robert Mugabe in Zimbabwe and Yoweri Museveni in Uganda, he did not play a key role in liberating his country from colonial rule — something used to justify their own lengthy tenures. And though there are several world leaders over 70, not least President Trump, only Mr. Biya is over 90. And he’s not going anywhere.
Like many African states, Cameroon was not born naturally but forced into existence by European colonization. In the late 19th century, Germany bundled more than 250 ethnic groups into one artificial unit. After World War I, the country was split between Britain and France, then stitched back together in 1961 under a United Nations referendum in which British southern Cameroon voted to join French Cameroon and part of the north voted to join Nigeria. From its foundation, Cameroon carried the seeds of division and authoritarianism.
The country’s first president, Ahmadou Ahidjo, ruled with an iron fist. A young Mr. Biya was by his side as prime minister, watching and learning. In 1982, Mr. Ahidjo was apparently convinced by a French medical doctor to resign on health grounds but assumed he would continue to pull the strings from behind the scenes. Instead, he had handed power to Mr. Biya on a silver platter. The former president soon went into exile, where he spent the rest of his life.
Mr. Biya has come to embody Cameroon, shaping the country in his image. Though often reclusive, he remains at the very center of the nation. He is head of state, chairman of the Higher Judicial Council and commander in chief of the armed forces. Much like in George Orwell’s “Animal Farm,” where a hen boasts, “Under the guidance of our leader, Comrade Napoleon, I have laid five eggs in six days,” Mr. Biya’s ministers attribute every success or stroke of luck to him.
Mr. Biya’s concentration of power is partly a response to the traumas of his early presidency. In his first couple of years in office, he survived two coup attempts. Then came the pressures of the so-called third wave of democracy, sweeping the continent. After some hesitation, Mr. Biya opened up the country’s politics. The first multiparty presidential elections took place in 1992, and many believe the opposition actually won. But the Supreme Court declared Mr. Biya the victor, with the presiding judge admitting that his “hands were tied.”
From these experiences, Mr. Biya took notes. Cameroon now has about 300 political parties, many thought to be funded by the government to weaken genuine opposition. As commander in chief, Mr. Biya is in full control of the military and even created what looks like a personal militia, the Rapid Intervention Battalion, notorious for serious human rights violations. He has long relied on the security services to sniff out discontent. Given that over six million Cameroonians live in extreme poverty, despite the country’s vast natural resources, that’s not in short supply.
Deep social divisions further entrench Mr. Biya’s rule. The three northern regions are predominantly Muslim and most of the south is Christian, while around 20 percent of Cameroonians speak English and are often at odds with the French-speaking majority. Mr. Biya and his allies ably exploit these divisions, especially along ethnic lines. In the English-speaking regions, what’s more, an armed separatist conflict has been raging since 2017. Once opposition territory, these areas are now too consumed by chaos to pose a challenge.
Nobody knows Cameroon better than Mr. Biya. He has balanced ruthless control with diplomacy, ensuring every ethnic group has a place in government while keeping his own tribe dominant. He has no permanent friends: Critics become ministers and allies end up in prison. “He has the agility of not only being one step ahead of the pack,” as the veteran journalist Sam Nuvalla Fonkem once described him, “but also the unusual ability of running with hares and hunting with foxes.”
Cameroon has long been a graveyard for press freedom. In 2024, the Committee to Protect Journalists ranked the country the third worst jailer of journalists in sub-Saharan Africa. Local media is forbidden from even mentioning the president’s health — rumored to be failing — and the last time Mr. Biya sat down for an interview with a Cameroonian journalist was in 2002. With total control of state media, he governs like a ghost: scripted, hidden behind layers of protocol and so guarded that even his closest allies are left guessing his next move.
Within his party, the Cameroon People’s Democratic Movement, there is no real contest for leadership. The party does not hold congresses to select a candidate — Mr. Biya is simply declared by loyalists as their natural choice. While most candidates are out touring the country to rally support, Mr. Biya spent the start of the campaign in Switzerland on a private visit. It helps that his most formidable rival, who came second in the 2018 presidential elections with 14 percent of the vote, has been disqualified.
But it hasn’t all been smooth sailing. This year, two influential ministers from the Muslim north resigned from the government and joined the race: Issa Tchiroma Bakary and Bello Bouba Maigari. Their candidacies tap into a longstanding demand from the region, which produced Cameroon’s first president, that power should “return home.” Many in the region see the presidency as their ancestral right. After more than 40 years, they are tired of waiting.
A united opposition might pose a threat. But divisions and personal ambition stand in the way. Mr. Tchiroma was once a member of Mr. Maigari’s party, yet invitations to endorse his candidacy fell on deaf ears. In any case, the credibility of Cameroon’s elections is in doubt. Members of the electoral body are appointed by Mr. Biya, with some drawn from his own party. In these inauspicious conditions, voter turnout is trending down: In 2011, five million voted; in 2018, it was just 3.5 million.
Everything points to another victory for Mr. Biya. But at 92, the end cannot be that far away. Beneath the surface, Cameroonians are beginning to ask a different question: not who will win, but what will happen after Mr. Biya is gone. The answer will define the nation more than this election ever will.
Shuimo Trust Dohyee is a Cameroonian journalist and documentary filmmaker whose work has appeared in African Arguments, Africa Is a Country and The Continent.
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