By Etienne Mainimo Mengnjo
The classroom air is thick, the traffic outside is deafening, and Madame Aïcha’s voice is already starting to fail her. By 10 a.m. in the heart of Yaoundé, the heat is a physical weight, but it’s nothing compared to the math that keeps her awake at night.
For eight months, Aïcha has poured her life into 48 restless pupils, grading papers by a single flickering bulb and arriving before the morning sun. Her reward for shaping the nation’s future? A monthly pittance of FCFA 50,000 and even lesser. It is a sum that vanishes the moment it hits her hand, swallowed by rent, bus fares, and the bare-bones diet of her two children.
Yet, a few doors down in the administrative office, the ledger tells a more prosperous tale. Every term, parents dutifully hand over fees reaching upwards of FCFA 150000 and more per child. The school’s coffers are filling, but for the teachers standing on the front lines of education system, that wealth remains a distant rumor. The money flows in, but it never reaches the chalkboard.
The plight of Aïcha is not an isolated incident. It is the daily reality for many teachers in Yaounde’s booming private education sector. These institutions promise quality and prestige to ambitious parents, but many are operated as high-profit businesses where staff members say they are treated as disposable commodities.
“The proprietor does not listen to anyone, not even the teachers who are going through thick and thin to educate young Cameroonians,” said a Class 6 teacher, who asked to remain anonymous for fear of termination. “Teachers are sacked at any given moment. Some proprietors claim to know everything and treat us as if we have no legal rights.”
Another teacher described a stark divide between the lifestyle of the school owners and the staff. “The proprietor collects the fees on the first day and disappears for weeks doesn’t pick calls,” a teacher said during a short break, her eyes clouded with fatigue. “He drives a new car and talks constantly about expanding the school. Meanwhile, we are told to ‘understand’ when our salaries are delayed or cut without any warning.”
Across the capital city, education has become a lucrative frontier. As enrollment numbers surge, proprietors often prioritize profit margins over classroom resources. Teachers report working without formal contracts, managing oversized classes with outdated materials, and receiving monthly stipends as low as FCFA 40,000. These wages have remained largely stagnant for years despite the rising cost of living in Cameroon’s urban centers.
The crisis extends beyond pay. Many owners view professional development as an unnecessary expense or a threat to their authority. “They hardly allow us to attend seminars to update our skills,” one teacher explained. “Some claim their teachers do not need those seminars because their schools use a ‘unique’ syllabus. In reality, they just do not want us to know our value or see how other professional schools operate.”
To many, any slight complaint or request for better conditions often results in immediate dismissal. This atmosphere of intimidation ensures that the “quiet crisis” remains buried beneath the surface of colorful school gates and polished marketing brochures.
Teachers also expressed frustration government stating that while the government officially seeks to resolve labor disputes and maintain academic standards, many teachers feel abandoned by the officials meant to protect them.
“These government officials contribute to our situation,” a teacher said. “When they come to the school, they do not even listen to us. They go straight into the administrative offices, they are treated well and then they leave as quickly as they came. They see the fancy office, but they never step into the crowded classrooms to ask the staff how we are actually faring.”
The influx of internally displaced persons (IDPs) fleeing the ongoing conflict in the Northwest and Southwest regions has further complicated the labor market. Desperate for work and stability, many displaced teachers are willing to accept even lower pay. Teachers say some unscrupulous proprietors use this desperation to drive down wages across the entire private sector.
When approached for comment, many school owners declined to speak on the record. However, a few who agreed to talk defended their management styles, citing the harsh economic climate in in the country.
“The economy is hard and we have to survive,” one proprietor said. “While our primary aim is to prepare young Cameroonians for the future, there is a business side to this that allows the school to stay open. We have overhead costs that parents and teachers do not see.”
The proprietor added that strict management is necessary for “monitoring the attitude” of some staff to ensure they remain on the right track.
The human cost of this imbalance is visible in the tired faces echoing through staff rooms across the capital. Qualified educators often stay in these precarious positions only because public sector jobs are scarce and the competition for civil service roles is fierce. To survive, many supplement their income with evening tutoring or small side businesses, leaving them exhausted before the next school day even begins.
While this situation is not exhibited in all private schools, observers have warn that if the exploitation of private school teachers continues, the quality of Cameroonian education will suffer. Without investment in teacher welfare and professional growth, the nation risks raising a generation instructed by a workforce that is under-motivated and pushed to the brink of collapse.
For Madame Aïcha, the macroeconomics of the sector matter less than the immediate reality of her empty cupboards. As she turned back to her 48 students to begin a lesson on geography, she raised her voice once more to compete with the roaring motorbikes outside, continuing a labor of love that currently offers very little in return.
