It was a bright Sunday morning in Buea, South West region when Njukang Princeley, a young man in his mid-twenties with visual impairment, carefully traced his way up the steep steps leading to his polling station at Government Bilingual Grammar School Molyko.
He carried with him not just his voter’s card, but also a sense of anticipation, as this was supposed to be the first time he could vote by himself.

On September 17, 2025, few weeks to the presidential election, Cameroon’s elections management body, Elections Cameroon, ELECAM had proudly announced the introduction of tactile jackets, a new device that would allow persons with visual impairment to identify their chosen candidate on the ballot through touch. It was hailed as a breakthrough in Cameroon’s democratic journey, a long-overdue step toward inclusion.

But when Princeley finally got to the voting booth on Sunday October 12, 2025, his hopes began to fade. He could not perform his civic duties independently.

“I asked the polling official for the tactile jacket, they told me there were none. I insisted, but they said the material wasn’t made available. In the end, I had to vote with someone guiding me. That means my vote was not secret. It was humiliating,” Princeley recounts.

For the millions of Cameroonians who cast their ballots in the October 12, 2025 presidential election, voting was a routine exercise. But for hundreds of voters with visual or mobility impairments, it became a painful reminder that promises of inclusion often end at the press conference podium.

When ELECAM unveiled the tactile jacket on September 17, 2025, optimism was high. The announcement came just weeks before the polls, at a high-profile event in the nation’s capital, Yaounde, attended by political leaders, disability advocates, and the media.

“Democracy becomes stronger when it offers freedom of speech to all, without any distinction. Usage of the tactile jacket is not only an electoral technique, it is a symbol of equal rights, inclusion, and respect for diversity,”declared Dr. Essousse Erik, ELECAM’s Director General.

The tactile jacket, made of plastic with raised dots corresponding to the positions of candidates on the ballot, was meant to empower visually impaired voters to mark their choices independently and secretly, without needing assistance. But the dream of an inclusive election ended abruptly when polling day arrived.

Reality at the polling centers

In city after city, polling stations and centers opened without tactile jackets. In many cases, polling staff did not even know what the devices were.

“We were told every polling station would have them, but even people in Yaoundé told me they didn’t see any. Some said maybe they were only available in pilot centers. But we were never told there would be pilot centers.” Princely said.

At Government Primary School Old Town in Bamenda II, Djomo Valentine, another voter with visual impairment, faced the same experience.

“The necessary equipment for persons with visual impairment was not available someone had to direct me on which color to choose. I can’t say for sure if I voted for the candidate I wanted,” he said in frustration.

Djomo’s disappointment goes beyond a single election. For him, the vote was supposed to be a moment of equality, a chance to express himself as freely as any other citizen. Instead, he walked away uncertain whether his voice was truly considered.

A System that forgot its people
ELECAM’s explanation for the missing tactile jackets left many voters stunned. Officials suggested that the devices could not be sent to all polling centers because the institution “did not know where persons with visual impairment would be voting.”That statement, to many, was an admission of poor planning and even disregard.”

“That’s not true, ELECAM has the statistics. They know how many persons with disabilities are registered and where they live. So why couldn’t they send the materials accordingly?” Princely said firmly.

In fact, ELECAM’s own pre-election data for the North West region listed 2,410 registered voters with disabilities, including 866 with visual impairment. Nationwide, the body routinely publishes figures on youth, women, and persons with disabilities.

So if the numbers exist, why didn’t they translate into logistics?. Disability rights activists say the problem was never about data, but about commitment.

“ELECAM collects information about voters with disabilities during registration, but that information isn’t used meaningfully. It stays on paper. When election day comes, everything falls back into the old system that excludes people” explained a Bamenda-based advocate.

Beyond logistics, many have also argued that lack of training was another major gap. The tactile jackets were introduced barely six weeks before the election, far too little time for both voters and polling staff to understand how to use them.

“Even if the materials were available, most people wouldn’t know what to do. You don’t introduce something new just before an election and expect it to work” Princely said.

Advocacy groups had earlier warned that the rushed rollout risked excluding those it intended to include. To make the device effective, they argued, ELECAM needed to run nationwide sensitization campaigns, conduct hands-on demonstrations, and train both voters and officials months before the polls. 

That never happened.

The barrier beyond blindness
For voters with mobility impairments, the obstacles were even more physical. In several towns, including Bamenda, where there was total lockdown and security threats from armed separatists, polling stations were agglomerated into centers where authorities and ELECAM deemed it necessary that security was guaranteed. 

This was another setback for persons with disabilities to access the centers, considering that they had to trek.

In some centers, ballot materials were located upstairs, inaccessible to wheelchair users and physically demanding for those with walking difficulties. At Government Bilingual Grammar School Buea and GBS GMI Bamenda II, for example, some polling rooms were stationed on the upper floors of old buildings without ramps.

“I was voting upstairs, I kept wondering what would happen if someone in a wheelchair came to vote there. How would they get up?” Princely questioned.

Observers say these oversights are part of a bigger problem, the lack of a national policy on accessibility of public infrastructure during elections. As one election observer put it, “You can’t talk about inclusion when people can’t even enter the polling station”

The numbers, the silence, and the stigma
Across the North West region, ELECAM registered 808,200 voters, among them over 2,400 persons with disabilities. Yet on election day, many of those voters could not cast their ballots independently.

For some, the problem was not just logistics but also stigma - the silent assumption that people with disabilities are secondary participants in civic life. That sense of helplessness was echoed by many who felt reduced to symbols in a political process that still does not fully recognize them as equals.

“When you depend on someone to help you vote, you give away part of your dignity, you can’t speak freely when your hand is being guided.” Djomo said.

North West Authorities and observers from the Justice and Peace Commission of the Archdiocese of Bamenda described the election atmosphere in Mezam Division as largely peaceful, with no major incidents recorded. But beneath the calm was a silent frustration, the kind that does not make headlines.

While many citizens noted that the turnout was “not really impressive” due to the imposed lockdown by armed separatists to prevent the population from exercising their civic rights. For many voters, including those with disabilities, it was not just apathy that kept them home, but the practical impossibility of participating meaningfully.

“People are not concerned about elections, not because they don’t want to vote, but because it’s organized in such a way that makes it impossible for them. When people can’t speak through their votes, the process loses its meaning” says Chi Dieudonne, a militant of the Social Democratic Front.

The way forward

For all its promises, the 2025 presidential election exposed a painful truth: Cameroon’s democracy still leaves too many behind.
The tactile jacket, meant to symbolize equality, instead became a mirror reflecting the gap between policy and practice.

If there is a lesson to learn, it’s that inclusion cannot be improvised. Experts suggest that tactile jackets and other accessible tools should be designed, printed, and distributed at the same time as ballot papers. Voter education should start months before elections, and polling stations should be physically accessible to all.

Many have also suggested that ELECAM must also use the data it already has to plan better, ensuring that persons with visual or mobility impairments are mapped and supported where they are registered to vote.

For now, the tactile jackets that were meant to liberate the visually impaired remain a symbol of unfulfilled promise. In the words of Djomo Valentine, who walked home uncertain whether he had chosen the right candidate:
“They said this election would include us. But how can it be inclusion when I still need someone to hold my hand to vote?” questions Djomo.

For citizens like Princely and Djomo, the struggle for a truly inclusive vote continues long after the ballots have been counted. They are of the opinion that until every Cameroonian, sighted or not, mobile or not, can cast a vote independently, the country’s democracy will remain incomplete.