By James Agbor,
In the sweltering heat of Bamenda, where the red earth carries the weight of unspoken dreams, the whispers of rebellion have taken a new form. The Ambazonian struggle, a cry for freedom from the chains of Cameroon’s centralized rule, has long been the heartbeat of the Northwest and Southwest regions. But on an ordinary October evening in 2025, a different voice pierced the airwaves—a voice from within the very palace that many Ambazonians blame for their suffering. Brenda Biya, the daughter of President Paul Biya, took to TikTok Live under her alias “King Nasty” and, in a move that shook the nation, urged Cameroonians not to vote for her father in the upcoming election.
The video spread like wildfire across WhatsApp groups in Buea and Kumba, where young Ambazonians, clutching their phones in dimly lit rooms, watched in disbelief. Brenda, draped in designer clothes from her luxurious life abroad, spoke with a conviction that felt both foreign and familiar. “Forty-three years is enough,” she declared, her voice sharp against the backdrop of her father’s sprawling reign. “The poverty, the unemployment, the stagnation—it’s all because of him.”
In Ambazonian villages, where the scars of conflict run deep, her words landed like a spark in dry grass. For decades, the Anglophone regions have endured marginalization, their schools shuttered, their youth gunned down, and their dreams of self-determination crushed under the weight of Yaoundé’s iron grip. Paul Biya, now 92, has ruled Cameroon since 1982, his presidency a monolith of alleged authoritarianism, corruption, and electoral fraud. To hear his own daughter denounce him was a moment of surreal vindication for many.
Yet, in the bustling markets of Douala and the quiet hills of Lebialem, opinions were divided. “Who is she to speak for us?” asked Ma Eunice, a trader in Bamenda’s Food Market, her hands calloused from years of toil. “She lives in luxury abroad while we dodge bullets here. Does she know the pain of losing a child to this war?” Ma Eunice’s skepticism echoed a broader sentiment: Brenda’s gilded life, far removed from the muddy roads and burned villages of Ambazonia, cast doubt on her motives. Was this a genuine cry for change, or a personal vendetta born of a strained family bond?
In Limbe, where the Atlantic kisses the shore, a group of young activists gathered in a small bar to debate Brenda’s words. “She’s never marched with us, never faced the tear gas,” said Eric, a student leader who lost his brother in the 2017 protests that ignited the Ambazonian uprising. “But her voice carries weight. If the president’s own daughter can turn against him, maybe the world will listen.” Eric’s friend, Ngum, a poet whose verses fuel the resistance, was less optimistic. “She’s not Ambazonian,” Ngum said, sipping palm wine. “Her rebellion is personal, not political. She doesn’t sing our songs.”
Across the border in Nigeria, where thousands of Ambazonian refugees have fled, Brenda’s TikTok Live stirred a different kind of hope. In a cramped refugee camp, Mami Grace, a mother of three who escaped the 2018 Ngarbuh massacre, watched the video on a borrowed phone. “If Brenda’s words can make one soldier lay down his gun, then let her speak,” she said, her eyes tracing the horizon. For Mami Grace, the struggle is not about who delivers the message but about whether the message reaches the world.
Brenda’s public disavowal of her father is unprecedented in African political history—a sitting president’s child openly campaigning against their parent’s rule. Yet, in the context of Ambazonia, it is a ripple in a river of resistance. The struggle for self-determination, born from decades of linguistic and cultural marginalization, has seen mothers bury their sons, villages reduced to ash, and dreams deferred. Brenda’s voice, however powerful, cannot erase the blood on the ground.
As the October 2025 election looms, Ambazonians face a familiar crossroads: to vote in a system they distrust or to continue their fight for a separate future. Brenda’s rebellion may amplify their cause, but it also raises questions. Can a daughter’s defiance topple a dynasty? Can a voice from the palace resonate with the pain of the people? In the hills of Kumbo and the streets of Mamfe, the answers remain as elusive as freedom itself.
For now, the Ambazonian struggle endures, its heartbeat steady, its spirit unbroken. Brenda Biya may have lit a spark, but it is the people—Ma Eunice, Eric, Ngum, Mami Grace—who will decide whether that spark becomes a flame.
