In my research and in my writing, there is something I have gradually come to realize that we do a great disservice and an undermining of the complexity that is the Cameroonian experience when we simply frame Cameroon as “linguistically divided”; with that description, people often think that the division is simply about language, that when you cross from one region into another you are merely encountering the necessity of speaking a different language. But it isn’t only that; when one crosses from one linguistic space to another, it isn’t only language or even culture that change; one often encounters a different way of life, different conversations, and different realities altogether. Even commerce changes. Spend enough time moving around Cameroon, and you begin to notice that what people buy and even what is available in the markets differ from region to region. Merchants in the Anglophone regions have historically looked westwards. Goods often arrive from neighbouring Nigeria or through Cameroon’s diaspora community members shipping items from the UK, Germany, the United States and elsewhere. As a result, there are products that are commonplace in Bamenda, Buea or Kumba that you might struggle to find in Yaoundé or Bertoua. On the other hand, many Francophone merchants have traditionally sourced goods through commercial networks linked to Douala, France, Côte d’Ivoire and other Francophone countries. You therefore find brands, fashions, food items and consumer habits that feel completely familiar on one side of the country and almost foreign on the other. It is one of those quiet reminders that Cameroon is not simply divided by language; our networks have evolved in different directions as well. Similarly, our entertainment and social interests demonstrate the divide. Francophone Cameroon on Twitter is often completely different from Anglophone Cameroon on Twitter. The stories that are trending, the issues people are debating, and the ‘influencers’ who wield public attention are not the same. It is almost as though we inhabit parallel public spheres that occasionally intersect but often continue quite independently of one another. I have found the same thing in my work on women’s issues and the feminist movement in Cameroon. One of the things that has struck me repeatedly is that what has concerned feminist organisations in the Anglophone regions has not necessarily been what concerns feminist organisations in Francophone Cameroon. And even within Francophone Cameroon, if you move further north, you discover yet another reality. The issues occupying women’s organisations in the Far North are often quite different from those occupying organisations in the South. To me, this is one of the most intriguing things my research and practice have revealed over the years, and I’d argue, one of Cameroonian civil society’s greatest weaknesses. Any movement that is divided, whatever the basis of that division, inevitably weakens itself. We cannot really speak of a national movement if we each respond only to the concerns within our own linguistic, regional, or cultural spaces. I have been thinking about this a great deal in phases of sorts over the past years for different reasons. The first time I thought of this was following a personal evaluation. A few years ago, as I reflected on my years leading Better Breed Cameroon before moving to serve only on its Board, I found myself asking what I had done well, where I had succeeded, and where I had failed. One of the first shortcomings I identified was that I had not engaged Francophone Cameroon nearly enough. Looking back, I suspect that part of the reason was that I come from one of the country’s marginalised communities myself. My instinct was naturally to focus my energy there because there seemed to be more than enough work to do among people marginalised than the majority the system comparatively privileged. But I realise now that this was a strategic mistake. No matter how justified the reason may be, you cannot simply disconnect social change work from almost three-fifths of the country. If we are serious about creating systemic change, then we cannot afford to remain within our own regional conversations. That was one of the lessons I took away from that period of reflection, and it is one of the reasons I have become much more intentional about engaging Francophone Cameroon in recent years. The second phase of this reflection was first sown in my mind far earlier, during one of the very first consultancies I ever did. In 2021, I worked with Global Fund for Women on research exploring youth movements in Cameroon and the priorities of youth-led organisations across the country.What fascinated me was how different those priorities were depending on where the organisations were based. Many of the organisations in the South were prioritising peacebuilding, employment, entrepreneurship and economic opportunity. Organisations in the Far North, however, kept returning to something that, at first, I simply could not understand. Birth certificates. I remember wondering why obtaining a birth certificate had become the focus of entire initiatives. Surely this was something that happened automatically. Surely everyone had one. It was only as I continued researching that I began to understand: If you do not have a birth certificate, there is no official proof of your age. If there is no official proof of your age, then how do you establish that you were a minor when you were married off? If the law prohibits child marriage, to which court do you take a child who has no documentation proving that she was, in fact, a child? How do you prove that a crime has taken place when the very evidence required to establish it does not exist?The more I thought about it, the more I realised that a birth certificate is not just a birth certificate. Without one, obtaining a national identity card becomes almost impossible. Without a national identity card, you are technically in violation of the law because Cameroonian adults are required to carry identification. And anyone who has lived in Cameroon knows how often police officers use identity