The immortals: Africa’s drift from democracy to gerontocracy

Paul Biya has done it again. At 92 years old, he has secured yet another term in Cameroon’s elections. He has been in power for 43 years, and if he completes this new mandate, he will still be president at 99. He only appeared before the people once during the campaign. One appearance, one wave, one carefully staged performance—and then the state machinery did the rest.

Across the continent, Biya is not alone. Teodoro Obiang Nguema has ruled Equatorial Guinea since 1979. Yoweri Museveni has led Uganda since 1986. Isaias Afewerki of Eritrea has been at the helm since 1993, and Denis Sassou Nguesso of Congo-Brazzaville since 1979. These are not mere statistics: they are the faces of an African decline from the promise of democracy into gerontocracy.

What’s most tragic is that they didn’t start as caricatures. Many of us grew up celebrating them as progressives. Museveni, the young rebel, penned Sowing the Mustard Seed, a treatise on reform and renewal that Africans studied with hope. They were the post-colonial vanguard, the antidote to the dictators they overthrew. But as time moved on, the veils were removed, revealing an unshakable will to staying in power.

So, how do they do it? Their methods differ in detail, but the playbook is unmistakably the same.

First, they began with the façade of democracy. Elections were held, constitutions drafted, parliaments convened. The early years were filled with the language of reform and inclusion. But democracy was hollowed out: you could ban opponents, jail them, control all media—so long as there was a ballot box, you could claim to be a democrat. It was the necessary opening act to secure legitimacy and aid.

Second, they changed the rules when the rules became inconvenient. Term limits were amended, age caps were removed, constitutions were rewritten. It was done “for stability,” “for peace,” “for the people.” Rule of law became rule of men.

Third, they captured the state machinery. The army, the police, the intelligence services—all became instruments of regime survival rather than national service. The state ceases to be a public institution and becomes a private security and patronage firm for the ruler.

Fourth, they perfected the art of political repression. Not everyone is jailed. Not everyone is killed. Just enough opponents are abducted, harassed, or worse to send the message. The political space is narrowed until there is only one person on every billboard.

Finally, they built vast systems of reward and punishment. Those who served the ruler prospered; those who didn’t disappeared. Over time, the entire political class became invested in the leader’s survival. To remove him would be to dismantle the system itself.

From this grim playbook emerge some chilling insights.

One, authoritarianism in Africa rarely begins as tyranny. It starts as idealism—revolutionary, righteous, and rational. 3Rs. The leaders who now crush dissent once fought for freedom. It is not the coups that kill democracy: it’s the gradual erosion of accountability under the pretext of peace and stability.

Two, today’s dictators outsource legitimacy. They no longer need the West. In the 1990s, donor pressure forced African leaders to at least pretend to respect democracy. Now, they have options—China, Russia, India, Turkey, and the Gulf—eager to trade without asking about human rights.

Three, there is one country whose political shadow looms large over Africa’s new authoritarian age: China. Beijing offers a seductive model: one-party stability, rapid development, and no messy elections. For leaders abhorring accountability, it’s the perfect inspiration.

The pattern is predictable. When a country emerging from dictatorship starts cozying up to China, think Uganda or Zimbabwe, one outcome is guaranteed—democratic regression. The state becomes more authoritarian, not less. Investment arrives, but transparency departs. Technology flows, but surveillance expands. Unfortunately, while China delivers development for its people, African leaders deliver neither development nor democracy. 

But this is not just about individuals: There are parties that have been ruling for generations. These parties may rotate faces but never philosophies. The rulebook is the same—control, control, control. And, tellingly, they all send their cadres to the Chinese-run Julius Nyerere Leadership School in Kibaha. Guess who is not invited? Political change.

What began as the “African Renaissance” has mutated into a rule by the aged and the unaccountable. Afewerki doesn’t even bother with the pretence. When asked about elections, he simply shrugged: “What elections?” Since 1996, Eritrea has had no parliament, no cabinet, no elections. Imagine that.

The tragedy isn’t just that these men refuse to step down—it’s that we’ve come to accept their permanence. We joke about their age, shrug at their staying power, and carry on as if it’s normal. Meanwhile, Africa’s democratic spirit quietly withers. The continent that once danced to the rhythm of liberation songs is now ruled by men and parties which have forgotten the tune.

So here we are, in the age of the immortals. Africans governed by men who came to power before the internet, before mobile phones, before multiparty politics. Once young reformers, but now they are the very despicable thing they once opposed.

Charles Makakala is a Technology and Management Consultant based in Dar es Salaam