"Satire will never die. After six months of suspension, here we are again," headlines Le Popoli's comeback edition of 8 February 2026. The lead caption on the front page is accompanied by a drawing of a pen lying in an open coffin, as if to say: "We were buried, but we are still alive." It is a space where even humourists and artists often find themselves in notoriously media-hostile Cameroon.
Nevertheless, after being shut down, one tries again. And little by little, one begins to notice some "dents in the dictatorship."
Humour is used where conventional media tread cautiously
Reporters Without Borders' Press Freedom Index ranks Cameroon 130th out of 180 countries globally. The country has been governed with an iron fist by the autocratic ruler Paul Biya (93), whose administration has become notorious for restricting civic and press freedoms. Civil society actors, journalists, academics, and opposition voices have frequently faced bans, intimidation, imprisonment, or exile. But in this constrained environment, one publication has consistently tested the limits: Le Popoli, Cameroon's only dedicated satirical newspaper. For more than 30 years, through biting caricatures and sharp editorial commentary, Le Popoli has held powerful state officials accountable, often using humour where conventional journalism in Cameroon treads cautiously. Its cartoons have often made people snigger at inflated government reports heralded by state media as "successes".
"A warning to others"
""Remember how often Pius Njawe was jailed," Le Popoli editor Paul Louis Nyemb Ntoogue, more commonly known as "Nyemb Popoli", recalls when we speak at his office in Douala. Njawe, the now deceased former editor-in-chief of Le Popoli's sister publication Le Messager, was arrested and imprisoned countless times for doing journalism. But Le Popoli always escaped such repression, thanks to its satirical focus.
"The recent state action against the newspaper therefore came as a surprise to Nyemb. "To my knowledge, no one has ever had a six-month ban like us," he says, reflecting that the period of suspension was "strategic", given that elections were approaching and "regime barons" were intent on silencing divergent views. "We know that election times are sensitive, so I think that those in power wanted to make an example of anyone who would think of crossing the line. They used us to serve as a warning to others."
Every Cameroonian understood that this seemed to be a corrupt official paying for penitence
The sanction followed the publication of a caricature in the 22 May 2025 issue of Le Popoli, which depicted the Minister of Territorial Administration, Paul Atanga Nji, handing an envelope to Pope Leo XIV. Every Cameroonian understood the message: this was a corrupt official paying for penitence. The government's National Communication Council immediately accused the newspaper of "violating professional ethics", "manipulating public opinion", and "implying corrupt behaviour". The ruling against Le Popoli also banned Nyemb from practising journalism during the six-month suspension. "The image was all over the place, but meanwhile we were sanctioned. This had an impact on us economically." The editor also notes that the minister portrayed in the cartoon, Paul Atanga Nji, seems to be particularly "untouchable".
Nevertheless, the 2025 elections turned out to be the most protested in Cameroon's history.
Downfall of a rebel
Cameroonian singers have also been in the state's crosshairs. The best known is Makossa artist Longue Longue (Simon Longkana), who built a reputation as one of the country's most outspoken musicians on themes of injustice in Africa. Songs such as Ayo Africa (2001), which dealt with exploitation and the lack of freedom across the continent, earned him a loyal following as a protest singer, with his fans including many in the ruling classes. When, between 2005 and 2008, the musician was jailed in France on a rape conviction, influential Cameroonians pleaded his case, secured his early release, and helped rebuild his music career.
Security forces wanted to know who “financed his songs”
His confrontation with the Cameroonian authorities came during the 2018 presidential election, when he openly backed opposition leader Maurice Kamto against President Paul Biya. He was arrested, briefly detained, and tortured by security forces, who demanded to know who had "financed his anti-government songs." Clearly intimidated, Longue Longue did not speak about the experience until the ordeal became public several years later, when a video of the torture surfaced online. The footage showed the popular artist stripped to his underwear, handcuffed behind his back, and pinned to the floor while several men questioned and beat him. In the recording, he can be heard pleading for mercy and saying: "I am going to die, please, Commandant. I am sorry, Papa Paul Biya."
The video triggered widespread outrage across Cameroon. The Ministry of Defence announced an investigation, while a list of 13 alleged perpetrators circulated on social media. To date, however, no findings from the promised investigation have been made public.
Gerontocracy
By the time the video emerged, Longue Longue had already fled back to France. In an interview with TV5Monde, he said he had been tortured by about ten soldiers while a superior officer supervised and recorded the abuse. Though his bid for political asylum failed because French authorities took into account his earlier rape conviction, he continued using music to criticise the government during his time in the country. In 2024, he released On a tout vu, a song denouncing what he called Cameroon's "gerontocracy", mocking the fact that the same ageing political elite continued to dominate the Presidency, the National Assembly, and the Senate.
Longue Longue was finally made to fall silent, likely for good, after the rejection of his final asylum appeal and his deportation from France to Cameroon on 18 June 2026. Upon arrival at Yaoundé-Nsimalen International Airport, he was reportedly questioned by defence officials, but was then released following the intervention of ruling party Senator Françoise Puene. In return, he publicly pledged to abandon politics and declared himself a member of the pro-government Biyayist movement, which is led by Puene herself.
“Have his songs stopped speaking to our conscience?”
Longue Longue’s rape conviction and recent political submission to the dictatorship have left many Cameroonians divided. While some view his déconfiture as the complete collapse of a once-defiant protest icon, others argue that years of imprisonment, torture, exile, and political pressure left him with little choice. As one music lover, Leonel Bitga, remarked, "People insult Longue Longue today, but have his songs stopped speaking to our conscience?"
Rapping from exile
Also in exile, but so far without stains attached to his reputation, is rapper Gaston Philippe Abe Abe, popularly known as "Général Valséro", who, throughout his hip-hop career, has used his lyrics to demand government transparency, democratic processes, and political accountability. The titles of his songs include "Ce pays tue les jeunes" ("This country kills the youth"), "Ne me parlez plus de ce pays" ("Don't talk to me about this country anymore"), and the well-known "Lettre au président" ("Letter to the president"), in which he directly addresses the Cameroonian head of state on issues of poverty, youth unemployment, and the lack of a future.
“What do you do when a government turns white into black?”
Simultaneously with Longue Longue and Le Popoli, action was also taken against Valséro during election time in 2019, in his case together with his music producer. Arrested during a pro-democracy demonstration, Valséro and his producer were charged with rebellion against the state, terrorism, insurrection, inciting public disorder, and propagating false information: all charges which, if they had been convicted, could have resulted in the death penalty. A human rights campaign urging the Cameroonian government to drop the charges was successful, however, and the two were released. "Valséro speaks the truth, but what do you do when you have a government that turns white into black?" asked fan Jackson Brown. "There is no freedom after speech (in Cameroon)."
Today, Valséro's songs continue to resonate from exile in Italy. His platform, "La Clinique du Papa" or Papa's Clinic, is a podcast where he dissects daily happenings in Cameroon and criticises the state, the ruling party, Biya, and all those he deems responsible for the suffering of Cameroonians. He has garnered over 1 million followers, with thousands listening to his podcast each day. His influence, together with that of influencers such as Nzui Mantho, who use Facebook platforms to denounce the country's political class, and the cartoons of Le Popoli, has contributed substantially to the massive Gen Z protests seen during the 2025 elections in Cameroon.
An ordinary person
And then there is the memory of Kankan. Though he died in 1997, this entertainer, with his distinctive accent, exaggerated mannerisms, and portrayal of the ordinary man battling life's frustrations, remains one of Cameroon's most beloved entertainers. When he was alive and performing, audiences laughed uncontrollably at his sketches; families gathered around television sets to watch him; market traders and taxi drivers repeated his punchlines. Every Cameroonian born in the last century still knows him and remembers him fondly; even Le Popoli's Nyemb told ZAM during our interview that he "feels his inspiration" today.
The comedian exposed the disconnect between public institutions and citizens
Born Dieudonné Afana Ébogo in 1956 in Nkom, a village near Douala, Jean Miché Kankan was one of the first to transform comedy into a powerful form of social commentary. His Le Permis de Conduire, for example, which on the surface was merely a humorous story about obtaining a driver's licence, became a subtle critique of administrative inefficiency and the obstacles citizens often faced when dealing with public services. La Carte d'Identité similarly highlighted the frustrations surrounding identification documents and administrative procedures. Through satire, Kankan exposed the disconnect between public institutions and the citizens they are meant to serve, a feature that dates back to colonial times in Cameroon.
Criticising without offending and provoking reflection without preaching, Kankan portrayed the struggles of millions of Cameroonians whose experiences rarely found, or find, representation in mainstream discourse. Whether dealing with police officers, civil servants, family disputes, or economic hardship, his characters reflected situations that many people encountered daily. Through his persona of an uneducated but highly observant character, Kankan's sketches sharply questioned authority, exposed hypocrisy, and highlighted contradictions within society.
Crossing ethnic lines
Remarkably, in an ethnically and linguistically divided country, Kankan's "ordinary person" humour almost effortlessly crossed such boundaries, including social barriers. Although he often played a Bamiléké character, -the Bamiléké being a middle-class ethnic group that dominates the business world in Cameroon-, audiences from every region recognised themselves in the universal situations he presented in his sketches. His stage persona reflected on life as "a wise drunk", speaking as though he was under the influence of alcohol, but voicing the daily frustrations every Cameroonian faces with public services.
Through Kankan's sketches, corruption became less abstract, and bureaucracy became a visible scourge, making social dysfunction impossible to ignore. More importantly, he demonstrated that humour could be a tool for civic engagement. Long before social media provided platforms for public criticism, Kankan was using television and stage performances to raise questions about governance, social behaviour, and collective responsibility.
The sketches still attract new generations of viewers
Teacher Gustave Abanda says he still references Kankan almost daily. "I always start my class by greeting my students in his familiar way: 'Famille ohoo!' And my students will respond 'ohooo!'" In that atmosphere, he says, it is easy to move on to correcting homework. Today, Kankan's sketches continue to circulate on digital platforms, attracting new generations of viewers like Gustave's students, for whom the administrative bottlenecks, social tensions, and everyday absurdities Kankan made fun of in the past still feel altogether familiar.
Kankan passed away far too early, at the age of 40, on 13 February 1997, after a severe illness that, according to contemporaries, may have been a liver infection. In Cameroon's sad reality, the star was, by that time, not financially secure enough to afford treatment.
A mirror to government
To Nyemb Popoli, Kankan continues to be an inspiration. "His satire has always been a source of strength." He adds that he imagines Kankan witnessing the trials he and Le Popoli have gone through and conjures up in his mind the sketches the great star might have written on these matters. Asked what keeps him going, Nyemb, raising his head high like a soldier returning from the front, says: "It is precisely the tradition of holding up a mirror to government. Before us there were the founding fathers, like Kankan. Today I think our paper has helped to dent the dictatorship. More people can speak out than before. We stood the test of time."
See all the instalments in this Transnational Investigation here
Africa | Artivists
Zimbabwe | The parody tsunami
Nigeria | Undermining the political class
Malawi | Presidents of the poor
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