Originally published on Global Voices

Photo of the Buea National Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration Committee for ex-fighters of Boko Haram and armed groups in the North-West and South-West Regions, from their archives, used with permission.

This work was produced as a result of a grant provided by the Cameroon Association of English-Speaking Journalists (CAMASEJ) as part of a project funded by Open Society Foundations.

What began in 2016 as a social uprising in Cameroon’s English-speaking regions has degenerated into a profitable business: Armed groups now sustain the Anglophone crisis through a brutal system of kidnappings, extorting at least USD 7,884,000 (FCFA 4.5 billion) from civilians in 2023 alone.

It all started as a plea for financial support. A phone call from an unknown number, asking those who hailed from Cameroon’s English-speaking regions to contribute to a struggle for liberation from marginalization. That plea has curdled into a threat. The “struggle” has today transformed into a full-blown business. The “War Generals” are now the executives of this enterprise. Kidnapping is their business strategy. Ransom payments and levies are their profit. Families, teachers, principals, and farmers are the collateral damage, facing both fear and financial turmoil.

Audrey Shiynyuy, who recounts her story with quiet contempt, lost her father the first time the separatist fighters, commonly known as “Amba boys,” came. They dragged her dad into the bush and set a price on his life. Her family paid the ransom. The justification: “to support the struggle.” He later returned home, and the family dared to hope. But when the fighters came again, they didn’t ask for money. They killed him. The initial payment had not bought freedom; it had merely financed a delay. This is the central paradox of a conflict devouring its own people.

The brutal conflict between government forces and separatist fighters seeking an independent state called Ambazonia has, in nine years and counting, claimed over 6,000 lives as of 2024, according to Human Rights Watch, and displaced more than 1.1 million people, per the Norwegian Refugee Council. Widely known as the Anglophone Crisis, the conflict has its roots in the historical marginalization of Cameroon’s English-speaking minority by the French-speaking majority government.

What started as peaceful protests by lawyers and teachers in 2016 over the imposition of the French language and law system in their courts and schools escalated dramatically following a violent crackdown by government forces.

As the conflict hardened, kidnapping evolved into its most lucrative industry. A 2023 study by the Global Initiative Against Transnational Organized Crime, drawing from ACLED data, recorded nearly 450 ransom abductions in the Anglophone regions, more than double the estimated 200 in 2022. Each abduction finances the next, trapping civilians in a cycle of violence and economic despair. Recent statistics are difficult to come by due to the stigma and fear of recurrence when a kidnapping case is reported.

The human ledger

The ledger of this war economy is written in the scars and minds of survivors. Journalist Fred Vubem Toh’s entry began on the Bambui-Babanki road. It was 3 pm when three armed men emerged from the bush and surrounded him at gunpoint.

A risky motorbike ride took him deep into a remote camp. His crime, they said, was being “an agent of La Republique.” His fine: USD 20,500 [FCFA 12.5 million] or death. “I had to give five guns and each gun costs USD 4,100[(FCFA 2.5 million],” said Toh. When he pleaded poverty, the negotiations turned violent.

They started beating me with planks and machetes… The more I pleaded, it made them angry. I saw it as their excuse to take my life.

His escape was not negotiated; it was seized. On the second day, with only one guard present, Toh feigned an upset stomach. Left alone, he ran.

I started running and I leaped over a log of wood and fractured my leg without even realizing.

For three days, he crawled, hiding under tree trunks as his pursuers combed the forest. A farmer eventually helped him under the cover of darkness.

His survival is a story of fortitude, but his liberation revealed a deeper failure. Even after providing the military and the Governor’s office with a detailed map of his captivity site, he did not receive any help from the government. He says:

I am shocked that till now nothing has been done. I learnt that the boys come out to the road everyday… and kidnap people and impose a daily levy. The population suffers.

The science behind the war economy

Okha Naseri Clovis, a former “Amba boy” now disarmed and registered with the National Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration Committee (NDDRC), explains the pivot from ideology to profit. He told Global Voices:

Civilians were never our target but became due to how expensive our generals saw it was to run a war and an army. They had to resort to feed from and hurt the very people they claimed to be protecting.

He points to a single, transformative event: the kidnapping of Tunisian construction workers on the Kumba-Bakassi road some years ago. Clovis recounts:

My General at the time, General Lake, asked for USD 147,500 [FCFA 90 million] and the company paid USD 82,000 [FCFA 50 million] cash up front.  Victims are kept and tortured in a room.

Payments flow through mobile money transfers and occasionally cash, allowing the perpetrators to amass huge digital fortunes. Clovis states:

In a day they can smoke drugs worth over 5 million and buy guns from our suppliers in Nigeria. One bullet is over USD 4.10 [FCFA 1,800] … which is why when we kidnap someone, our goal is to get as much money as possible.

The cost is extracted person by person. Godwin Benyella, Principal of the secondary school GBHS Atiela, has two entries in this ledger. He says, the memory still fresh. The first was an attempted kidnapping where his son was shot.

 At 9 am in broad daylight… blood was oozing from my child’s leg.

The second time, he and his vice-principals were abducted from his office. Their salvation came from a desperate bluff.

I had an iPhone and I discovered they do not like taking an Apple gadget… I told them there is a tracker in my car which will be followed.

Spooked, the fighters hastily demanded millions. The money was sent by his wife, “bit by bit.”

Bin Joachem Meh, Director of Academic and Research at the Yaounde International Business School and an economist, describes the demands for ransom as a sophisticated economic system. He explains:

Ransom money moves through the local economy… via a multi-layered process that blends coercion with commerce.

The process begins with the liquidation of a family’s assets. The cash then enters a shadow ecosystem. A portion is immediately “cashed out” for daily needs, “injecting illicit capital directly into local markets, thereby creating a perverse form of economic stimulus under duress.” The rest is reinvested in the conflict, in weapons, logistics, and salaries, transforming victims into financiers of the violence that plagues them. The macro-effect is devastating. Meh describes “severe market distortions” and a “predatory redistribution of wealth” that forces families to sell productive assets like land, creating intergenerational poverty. Meh states:

The conclusion is inescapable. Yes, ransom payments have helped sustain or even prolong the conflict. They provide a reliable, internally-generated revenue stream… Transforming kidnapping into a profitable enterprise, makes political resolution economically disadvantageous for those who profit from the ongoing instability.

Nothing changes if nothing changes

Now a peace activist with My Kontri People Dem (MKPD), Clovis is back in school, months away from earning his Bachelor’s degree in transport and logistics. He maintains ties with the battlefield he calls “ground zero,” encouraging communities to unite, protect themselves, and chase the Amba boys out. He says:

The war has become a business which everyone benefits from.

He explains that many of today’s generals are “hardened criminals” recruited from prisons, a plan that “backfired.” Their goal is enrichment, not liberation. “When kidnappings are not bringing money, they enter the streets and catch people for a levy.” The ideological struggle has been hollowed out, replaced by the relentless pursuit of profit.

Statistics from the National Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration Committee (NDDRC), show that as of September 15, 2025, 373 men, 111 women and 75 children have dropped their weapons and are going through their reintegration process in the North West Region in the Bamenda centre.  In the South West region, Buea centre, 651 men, 30 women, and 23 children are now registered as ex-combatants. Governors of both regions say in media reports that efforts are being put in place to protect civilians. But many say they feel abandoned — forced to continue funding the very problem that kills them.

Global context

Cameroon’s ransom-fueled silent crisis mirrors crises unfolding in parts of Nigeria, Mali, and Haiti, where armed groups sustain themselves through kidnappings. It reflects a growing global pattern: when conflict becomes profitable, peace becomes bad business. The international community’s muted response and local fatigue have normalized this invisible economy of suffering. Yet for thousands of Cameroonians, the daily cost of survival is measured in fear, loss, and cash. In this marketplace of war, human life has become the currency, and every ransom paid buys another bullet, so until real action is taken, the cycle continues.

Originally published on Global Voices

Cameroon's opposition candidate Cabral Libii votes in Efoulan school, Yaounde third district, 2018. Image from Wikipedia. Public domain. 

During election campaigns, young people are often used by political parties because of their large numbers and their potential to influence the votes of their relatives. In Cameroon, over 60 percent of the population is under the age of 35, and the median age is just 18.7. These young people no longer want to play the role of mere extras during election campaigns, but yearn to be agents of change.

Nchang Cho Clinton, a civil society youth actor, said:

Stop seeing youth as a demographic to be used during campaigns and ignored afterward.

Cameroon’s long-serving president, Paul Biya, who has been in power since 1982, has announced October 12, 2025, as the date for the country’s next presidential election. With this announcement, the political landscape in the Central African nation is beginning to take shape ahead of the polls.

Aspirants have submitted their candidacies, party endorsements are pouring in, and alliances are forming. But outside elite circles, in university halls, social media groups, and on street corners, many young Cameroonians interviewed by Global Voices have a common question: “Are we finally the ‘leaders of tomorrow,’ or just props in yet another campaign spectacle?”

Between the stage and the streets

A rally organized on June 13, 2025, by the Association of Young Patriots for Paul Biya (JAPABI) saw over 150 young people gathered at Omnisport Stadium in Yaounde esplanade under the banner of “Youth Engagement for Peace.” There were speeches in praise of President Biya’s leadership. Many hailed him as a father figure and champion of unity.

However, a controversy around young people's participation in the upcoming presidential election emerged when some young Cameroonians were reported to have raised FCFA 40 million (over USD 65,000) for President Paul Biya‘s deposit and campaign expenses. Paul Biya is but a shadow of his former self, and his speeches are no longer unifying.

The donation collected by the young people was officially received at the Unity Palace on July 14, 2025, by the Minister of State and Secretary-General at the Presidency, Ferdinand Ngoh Ngoh, on behalf of the Head of State. The figure and gesture immediately stirred disbelief across the country due to the high unemployment rate among young people, who would find it difficult to raise this amount. Many young people took to social media to question the legitimacy of the donation, both because most young people have little extra to give and because Biya is notoriously unpopular with young voters. Reports from the Cameroon Radio Television say the youth representatives came from across the country. In 2025, the minimum monthly wage in Cameroon will be FCFA 43,969 (USD 78.11).

Ferdinand Ngoh Ngoh noted that the youth representatives during the donation ceremony were from the country's Northwest and Southwest regions — areas that have long been affected by violent conflict in Cameroon. These two English-speaking regions have been gripped by a separatist conflict since 2016, stemming from long-standing grievances over perceived marginalization by the predominantly French-speaking central government, leading to an armed struggle between government forces and separatist groups.

As satire and memes flooded traditional social media platforms such as Facebook, WhatsApp, TikTok, and X, many young people questioned the motive and sources of those finances. “That sounded so wrong,” a student who chose to be anonymous told Global Voices, adding that:

Youths are battling real issues and need that money more than he does. And frankly, the people giving the money looked over 35. In Cameroon, youth is apparently a flexible age.

On paper, Cameroon’s youth should be a major political force with an estimated general population of nearly 30 million people. But the reality is that young people remain underrepresented in politics. According to a World Bank report, the country’s youth face unemployment rates exceeding 30 percent, and over 70 percent of employed youth are underemployed, working in informal or unstable conditions.

A youth civil society actor, Nchange Cho Clinton, who heads the African Caribbean Pacific Diaspora Youth Support Services, said in an interview with Global Voices:

Unemployment and political exclusion are youths biggest challenges. Even with skills, many can’t find opportunities or platforms to be heard. It’s disheartening.

These frustrations fuel a growing disinterest in electoral politics, but not a total rejection. Clinton continues:

It’s one of the few rights we have left. Even if the system feels rigged, not voting ensures we’re excluded. We must vote, and demand accountability beyond the polls.

Still, skepticism runs deep. The FCFA 40 million contribution seemed to confirm what many fear: that youth are seen more as cheerleaders than changemakers.

Thirteen candidates, one nation on edge

Between July 12 and 21, 2025, Cameroon’s electoral body recorded over 80 candidature files for the presidency. The highest number in the country’s and the world’s history. This record far exceeds the 28 candidates registered in the 2018 election, and happened despite stricter legal and procedural requirements set in 2012.

On July 26, 2025, Elections Cameroon (ELECAM) announced the provisional approval of 13 candidates out of 83 applicants for the upcoming presidential election scheduled for October 12. The announcement was made in Yaounde by Enow Abrams Egbe, chairperson of Elecam's Electoral Board. Among those approved are incumbent President Paul Biya, opposition leader Joshua Osih, and former ministers Issa Tchiroma Bakary and Bello Bouba Maigari, both former allies of Biya. Hermine Patricia Tomaino Ndam Njoya stands out as the only female candidate on the list. Notably, the application of prominent opposition figure Maurice Kamto was rejected. According to the electoral code, disqualified candidates have 48 hours to appeal to the Constitutional Council.

A promising 37-year-old engineer, Hiram Iyodi, running under the Front des Démocrates Camerounais (FDC), is equally gaining ground in the presidential race as he leverages the power of his TikTok and X accounts to rally fellow young Cameroonians to vote.

Each candidate brings a different vision, but the stakes remain the same: leadership over a fractured, youthful, and impatient nation. Cameroon enters this election burdened by unresolved crises, most notably the Anglophone conflict, persistent economic strain, deepening poverty, and mounting public demands for accountability.

Corruption remains pervasive. Transparency International’s 2024 Corruption Perceptions Index scores Cameroon at 26 out of 100, placing it 140th out of 180 countries, a drop of one point from the previous year. Yet few young people feel that the current political class truly understands their challenges. A young medical student in Yaounde told Global Voices:

I am very much interested and hopeful. There’s a wind blowing across Africa. I hope Cameroon finally breathes it.

In this environment, youth-led NGOs such as Local Youth Corner (LOYOC) and Actions for Development and Empowerment (ADE) are stepping up, not just to campaign, but to inform. Workshops on civic education, employment rights, and political participation have multiplied, from Douala to Maroua. While JAPABI rallies for Biya, other networks push for a broader awakening: a politics of issues, not just loyalty.

Will the youth vote count?

At present, Cameroon has over eight million registered voters, and young people make up a significant number of the electorate; one might assume they hold the key to this election. However, voter turnout has historically been low among youth, and trust in political institutions remains shaky.

Still, there's a sense that something may shift. Social media is amplifying youth voices in real time. WhatsApp groups are doubling as civic forums. Influencers are talking policy. Students are discussing reforms over street food. And slowly, a generation that has long been dubbed “apathetic” is discovering its leverage. One student activist says:

 If our leaders keep viewing us as campaign tools instead of active citizens, then the change we need won’t come from them, it must come from us.

As October approaches, one thing is certain: Whether by vote or silence, Cameroon’s youth will shape this nation’s future. The challenge now is ensuring they’re not just present at rallies, but centered in the country’s long-overdue political renewal.

Originally published on Global Voices

Children in the technology laboratory. Image from Cynthia Ebot Takang. Used with permission

Across Cameroon, especially during summer holidays (end of July to beginning of September), a growing number of parents are enrolling their children in training programs focused on coding, robotics, and artificial intelligence. What started as a niche interest has evolved into a national shift, one that sees digital literacy not as a luxury but as a necessity.

As artificial intelligence and advanced technology begin to massively reshape the world, Africa faces the familiar risk of being left behind. Many African children still lack the opportunities to engage with technology early, deepening existing educational and economic gaps. But a shift is happening. In Cameroon, more and more parents are taking matters into their own hands, enrolling their children in AI and coding programs to make sure they don’t miss out on future opportunities.

When a four-year-old child stood before a room of parents, mentors, and friends in Yaounde, the capital of Cameroon, last year, few expected much beyond shy smiles. But what followed was a confident pitch of a group project, an interactive game that helps users choose healthy meals based on their age, health, and gender as part of a five-week AI boot camp for kids. The 2024 edition was organized by the Kitadis boot camp, which has continued for its 2025 edition this year.

The tool was inspired by the team leader’s own pregnant mother, who had struggled with meal planning. The project won “Demo Day”  (the final presentation event of a five-week AI boot camp for kids), where they presented their ideas to their peers and teachers.

In a country where access to technology remains uneven and innovation is often seen as an adult’s domain, this moment proved that even the youngest Cameroonians can identify real-world problems and build tools to solve them.

The cusp of change

In Yaounde’s Ngoa-Ekelle (a neighborhood located in the centre of Yaounde), the Kitadis Centre is one of the hubs driving this change. By 9 am, a classroom fills with children aged four to thirteen, fingers dancing on keyboards, guided by two young trainers. The goal isn’t just to teach typing or PowerPoint; it’s to awaken creativity through technology.

The founder of the enterprise known as Star Light Inc., Mabu Celeb Njienyo, who runs the camp, believes tech education is key to raising a generation of solvers. He said :

Everyone complains, but few use technology to fix the problems we face.

The program costs FCFA 10,000 (USD 17) for registration and FCFA 20,000 (USD 33) for tuition, in a country where the minimum monthly wage is FCFA 43,969 per month (USD 79) for most workers in the formal sector outside of agriculture.

The program concludes with a “Demo Day”  where students present their inventions to parents and a jury. Children work in teams, and the curriculum is structured so that by the end of the five weeks, even complete beginners can build something useful.“We follow up after camp by setting up tech clubs in their schools,” Njienyo added.

Just across town at another training Centre, BLIS Global Center in the Biyem-Assi Lac (neighborhood in the centre of Yaounde), the setup is more advanced. Kids arrive at 8 am, don white lab coats, and dive into activities like programming robots, designing with 3D printers, and building basic mechanical systems. Their workspace resembles a miniature lab, with cords, simulators, wheels, and computers scattered around workstations.

The technical director for coding and robotics at the centre, Che Emmanuel Anye, believes that teaching tech now is no longer optional. He said to Global Voices:

The language of tomorrow won’t be English or French, it’s technology.

BLIS Global’s three-year program begins at age six and gradually introduces children to hands-on tech: designing automatic dustbins, simulating electronic systems, and even creating early prototypes for commercial use. The annual fee is FCFA 100,000 (USD 167) and includes coding, robotics, and talent development. But what makes the program even more impactful is its commitment to inclusion for kids from diverse backgrounds. The founder and director of Sainte Rita Orphanage, Sister Balbine Lemana, sent ten children to the center this year through various sponsors.

This training has helped them see the value of technical education they used to ignore it. Now they love building things.

For her, programs like the one offered at BLIS Global prove that access to opportunity shouldn't be determined by wealth. Across both centers, the transformation is visible. Children don’t just learn to use computers; they begin to imagine how they can shape the world with them. From wire circuits to game interfaces, they move from play to purpose.

Many of the kids enrolled at these centers and others around the country are opting to pursue more technical education. They say they are already aware of the good and bad sides of technology, but are ready to maximize the good side to help their community.

Some projects they have worked on include: a power bike prototype, an electronic walking stick for blind persons, and a self-functioning trash bin.

Cameroon’s National Pedagogic Inspector for computer sciences, Godson Muluh, supports this movement. A 2024 winner of the Google Gemini AI Competition, he believes tech education should begin as early as possible.

Holidays are a chance to catch up on other skills such as how to use technology. Most schools can’t teach digital skills in-depth during the school year. Starting early shapes career paths and builds tech confidence which is needed nowadays in all aspects of life.

He recalled that learning computer-related skills early on gave him a head start in secondary school, setting him apart from his peers.

You can do the bare minimum with AI and it’ll do the heavy lifting for you. The earlier children understand this, the better.

In classrooms once filled with chalk and dust, Cameroonian children are now learning to write code, program robots, and design tools that solve real problems. For some, like the boy who built a nutrition game for his mother, it’s already personal. For others, it’s the first step into a world where solutions are just a few clicks away.