Last week in Bamenda, the Cameroonian government staged yet another political charade—this time, in the form of a ribbon-cutting ceremony for a simple gas filling station. A representative of the Prime Minister was dispatched in dramatic fashion, accompanied by sirens, an entourage, and hired traditional performers, all to commission what any honest observer would recognize as an ordinary storage and distribution depot for bottled cooking gas.
And yet, they presented it to the people as if it were a game-changing industrial breakthrough.
What unfolded was not governance. It was a spectacle, pure and simple. The entire event reeked of manipulation and desperation, carefully choreographed not to serve the people of Bamenda, but to hoodwink them ahead of another rigged electoral cycle.
The Mayor of Bamenda, playing his part in the propaganda parade, went as far as to proclaim—on camera—that this humble gas depot would create “over 1,000 jobs for the youth.” A claim so patently absurd that one could only laugh and cry at the same time. What will those 1,000 youths be doing at a gas depot? Chanting around the cylinders? Filling ghost bottles? Running laps between shelves?
This is not an oil refinery. It is not a manufacturing plant. It is a filling station—a place where gas bottles are deposited, stored, and resold. At most, it will employ a handful of technicians, attendants, and security staff—not 1,000 people.
But truth is a casualty in Yaoundé’s politics, and in Bamenda last week, lies were weaponized once again to placate, distract, and bait a population long denied their basic rights.
A Pattern of Political Insult
This was not the first time the regime pulled such a stunt. In every election season, it follows the same tired script: deploy bulldozers to pothole roads, plant a few electric poles, dig half a trench, and commission trivial structures while making grand declarations about “development” and “national unity.” And once the ballots are rigged and counted, everything comes to a screeching halt. The caterpillars disappear. The promises evaporate. And the suffering resumes.
This time, realizing that the people of Bamenda are no longer deceived by fake roadwork, the regime swapped its playbook and opted to inaugurate a filling station instead—and then dressed it up with cultural dancers, blaring microphones, and exaggerated employment projections.
Even worse, as usual, they credited the “Head of State” for the “delivery.” As if the President himself descended from Yaoundé to install gas tanks in Bamenda. “He has finally delivered,” they said. Delivered what, exactly?
The Bamenda Ring Road, long promised but never completed? The expansion of city streets, long announced but now overrun with weeds? Stable electricity, clean drinking water, functioning hospitals? Or maybe the freedom for Bamenda to elect its own administrators, mayors, and governors?
No. None of these have been delivered. What was delivered was a distraction, and a dangerous one at that—because while the people of Bamenda continue to cry out for freedom, infrastructure, jobs, and dignity, the regime offers them gas and gimmicks.
The Real Agenda
Let’s not pretend to misunderstand what this was really about. The filling station wasn’t inaugurated for its economic significance; it was launched as a political ploy to encourage voter registration in a region that has grown increasingly disillusioned with Yaoundé’s politics.
This has become the regime’s go-to method: project token infrastructure in targeted regions to buy silence or lure people to the polls, then retreat once the regime has milked the propaganda value. It is not development. It is political manipulation masquerading as public service.
They want to pacify the youth, make them think something big is coming, and then direct them quietly toward voter registration. But the youth of Bamenda are awake. They are watching. And they are not fooled.
Let it be known: the people of Bamenda are not against development. They are not against gas stations. If the depot cuts down on gas prices, brings stability to supply, and makes daily life easier for families, that is welcome. But don’t insult their intelligence by calling it economic transformation.
What the people of Bamenda need is far more profound and urgent: Roads that are paved and maintained, not seasonal facades. Access to clean drinking water—not dirty streams, reliable electricity—not perpetual blackouts. Well-equipped hospitals, not empty buildings. Education and opportunities for their children—not ghost promises. And most importantly, the freedom to govern themselves, elect their leaders, and shape their future without imposition from the corridors of power in Yaoundé.
These are not privileges. They are rights. And they will never come from a ceremonial gas depot.
Ambazonia and the True Path to Dignity
This is why many Southern Cameroonians continue to rally around the cause of Ambazonia. Because they understand, deeply, that no quantity of gas bottles or ribbon-cuttings will restore their dignity. What Bamenda, Buea, and all of Southern Cameroons truly need is political freedom, autonomy, and self-determination—not temporary projects aimed at silencing discontent.
To the people of Bamenda, I say: take the gas if it helps. But take it with open eyes. Know that it offers nothing close to the Ambazonian dream—a dream where youth are not treated as statistics, where development is not a performance, and where politicians don’t ride in with drums to lie to your face.
The people want lasting change, not temporary stunts. They want justice, not gimmicks. They want freedom, not favors.
So to those who staged this circus: take your gas station and run with it, but don’t expect gratitude for crumbs. Bamenda is not asleep. Southern Cameroons is not silent. And the resistance lives on—not against gas, but against deceit.
