Tchiroma Declares Victory in Cameroon’s Presidential Election, Challenging Four Decades of Power

By Adonis Byemelwa

For the first time in decades, Cameroon feels the air shifting. The announcement came on October 14, when Issa Tchiroma Bakary, longtime minister turned opposition candidate, stood before cameras in his hometown of Garoua and calmly declared that he had won the country’s presidential election held two days earlier.

His voice was steady, his words measured, but their meaning thundered across the nation: “Our victory is clear. It must be respected.”

Tchiroma’s statement landed like a spark in dry grass. For forty-three years, Paul Biya has ruled Cameroon, becoming one of Africa’s longest-serving leaders.

Generations have grown up under his watch, and for many, political change has always seemed like a distant dream. But as Tchiroma spoke, something in the national mood seemed to shift—hope, disbelief, and anxiety mixing in equal measure.

In the weeks leading up to the October 12 vote, the country’s tension was palpable. Streets filled with posters, markets buzzed with political talk, and for the first time in years, young people were paying attention.

Tchiroma, who once served as Biya’s minister, had broken ranks with the ruling party earlier this year. His campaign drew energy from the promise of renewal—a call for dignity, jobs, and an end to what many describe as the fatigue of forty years under one man’s rule.

Election day came quietly. Polling stations opened early, and from the humid coasts to the arid north, citizens queued with patient determination. There were scattered reports of confusion and missing materials in some areas, but for the most part, the process unfolded peacefully. As night fell, volunteers and election officers counted ballots under flickering lights, their voices echoing through school halls and community centers.

By morning, whispers of results began to circulate. In Garoua, Tchiroma’s supporters danced in the streets, convinced their man had pulled off the impossible. But at the national level, silence prevailed.

ELECAM, the official electoral body, had not yet released any figures. And in that silence, rumors grew. Screens lit up with homemade tallies, photos of result sheets, and competing claims.

When Tchiroma finally spoke, his confidence was absolute. He thanked voters for their courage and called on Biya to accept “the truth of the ballot box.” To his supporters, it was a moment of vindication; to the government, it was a provocation.

Within hours, the Minister of Territorial Administration warned that anyone declaring results before the Constitutional Council’s official proclamation could face charges of high treason.

That warning drew a sharp line in the sand. Cameroon suddenly found itself suspended between two versions of reality—one where a new president had been chosen, and another where the old order still held power. On social media, the debate exploded. Some celebrated Tchiroma as the voice of a people finally rising. Others cautioned that his move was reckless, potentially pushing the country toward confrontation.

Behind the scenes, officials of the ruling party moved carefully. No one from Biya’s camp publicly conceded, but neither did they launch into open celebration. It was as though the regime, long accustomed to certainty, was now calculating its next step in unfamiliar terrain.

For Tchiroma, the declaration was more than a political maneuver—it was personal. At 74, he has spent most of his life inside the machinery of government, serving loyally before breaking away to form his own party, the Front for the National Salvation of Cameroon.

 His defection earlier this year was seen as an act of defiance, but few imagined it would lead him here, standing as a self-declared president-elect, daring to challenge the nation’s most entrenched leader.

In his speech, he was careful to address not just his followers but the nation at large. He urged soldiers and civil servants to stay loyal to the republic, not to any single man.

He framed his victory as one that belonged “to the people,” not to a party. The tone was calm, but the implication was unmistakable—he was positioning himself as the next head of state.

The coming days will test whether that claim holds. Under Cameroon’s constitution, only the Constitutional Council has the power to declare a winner, and it has until October 26 to do so.

That process is usually a formality in a system where institutions have long served the presidency. But this time, the atmosphere feels different. There is a sense, whispered in taxis and markets, that history might actually be turning.

The question now is whether that turn will be peaceful. Supporters of both sides are restless. In Yaoundé, the capital, security forces have been seen in larger numbers near government buildings.

 Meanwhile, Tchiroma’s allies are calling for calm but also for vigilance—urging citizens to “protect their vote.” The fear, shared quietly among diplomats and ordinary citizens alike, is that any spark could set off unrest.

For many Cameroonians, this moment feels like standing at the edge of something immense and uncertain. There’s pride in having voted, fear about what might come next, and deep fatigue with the endless cycles of promise and disappointment. Some remember past elections where opposition figures claimed victory, only to be silenced by procedure or force. Others, especially the youth, are unwilling to give up this time.

In conversations across the country, one phrase keeps returning: “We just want the truth.” Whether that truth favors Tchiroma or Biya, people say, they want transparency—proof that their voices counted. After decades of politics defined by caution and control, this simple demand feels revolutionary.

For Issa Tchiroma, the path ahead is both exhilarating and perilous. If the Constitutional Council confirms his victory, he will inherit a nation eager for change but burdened by deep divisions. If it rejects his claim, he faces the delicate task of defending his credibility without igniting chaos.

Whatever happens, Cameroon has already crossed an invisible threshold. The sight of an opposition leader standing before the nation, declaring victory with conviction and calm, has stirred something powerful.

Whether it leads to a peaceful transition or a prolonged struggle for legitimacy, this moment will be remembered as the night the silence finally cracked.

And in that break—between old authority and new ambition, between the promise of democracy and the weight of history—Cameroon now waits, breath held, for what comes next.