Cameroonians expected to see the veteran leader on the tarmac, shaking hands with Etoudi Palace officials as he usually does. Instead, they glimpsed a single hand through a barely lowered window. In the world of governance, a hand carries profound meaning—four degrees of power, each with its own weight.

The first degree: the hand that kills

In ancient Rome, spectators watched gladiators’ fates decided by a single gesture: the emperor’s thumb. Up meant life; down meant death. On August 20 in Yaoundé, the roles were reversed. No longer did a ruler’s hand determine a warrior’s survival. Instead, the hand itself became proof that its owner had survived his absence. Cameroonians saw Biya’s hand salute them—a clear sign he had returned alive.

The second degree: the hand that cheats

When legs falter, hands take over. In 1986, Diego Maradona famously scored with his hand, calling it the “Hand of God.” The referee saw it—and validated the goal. On August 20, everyone saw only a hand. Yet Cameroon’s national broadcaster, with its 200 staff dispatched to film the procession, endorsed the spectacle as if it were no trick at all.

The third degree: the hand that blesses

In religious tradition, power flows from anointed hands. Priests lay hands on the faithful; popes bless Urbi et orbi; kings are crowned by sacred touch. Once consecrated, the hand becomes a relic. What Cameroonians witnessed was an inverted liturgy: a relic-hand lifted through tinted glass, paraded like a holy shrine on feast days, meant to restore faith in its unseen owner.

The fourth degree: the hand that governs

Here lies the essence. The signing hand. For 74 days while Biya stayed in Switzerland, the state continued to function. Why? Because his hand was still signing—decrees, appointments, laws. The body may have been absent, but the manus, the Latin word for hand, remained in power. In Roman law, manus meant authority itself. Today, Cameroon’s political stage shows no speeches, no bodily presence, no walk down the tarmac. Only the signature and the salute remain—two gestures that now define a presidency stretching into its fourth decade.

In Rome, a hand decided life or death. In Yaoundé, it merely confirms survival. Yet after 43 years in office, Cameroonians must now learn to be governed by a hand they rarely see—and may soon see no more. As journalist Marie Roger Biloa bluntly puts it: Cameroon must brace for the definitive departure of a president already absent in all but name.