10/10/2024
Title: The Ministry of Everything and Nothing
In the grand capital of a very important West African nation, the Ministry of Everything and Nothing convened its annual "Year of Promises" summit. As tradition dictated, the event was held at the opulent Palace of Delayed Agendas, a glittering testament to everything the government hadn't quite managed to accomplish since independence.
The Minister of Roads Without Potholes, Chief Engineer Bitumen Vanish, stood at the podium. His voice boomed across the hall, shaking the chandeliers like his promises had shaken the nation's trust.
"Fellow citizens, this year, we are proud to announce the groundbreaking ceremony for the Lagos-Kano Super-Express-Ultra-Highway! When completed in 2075, this road will have zero potholes, guaranteed for the first three days of use!"
The audience erupted in applause, though most were clapping with one hand while holding up their phones with the other—trying to catch a signal from the eternally down "National Network for Efficient Communication."
Next up was the Minister of Constant Power Outages, Honorable Darkness Evermore. She took the stage, a bright smile on her face, despite the fact that the hall lights flickered in sync with her footsteps.
"Citizens, this year marks a new era in power generation. We will be transitioning from 2 hours of electricity per day to 2 hours and 15 minutes, if the weather cooperates!" The crowd cheered as the lights went out for exactly two minutes, as if on cue. She nodded approvingly, "Proof that we are making progress."
In the corner of the hall, the Minister of Health and Magical Cures, Dr. Herb Hocus-Pocus, was handing out herbal concoctions labeled “Cure-All Elixir.” It had been their answer to every health crisis—from malaria to corruption. "Drink this," he urged, "and you won’t feel any pain from the bad governance. Or anything else, really."
Then came the President himself, His Excellency, Chief Procrastinator-in-Chief. With a heavy sigh, he lumbered to the stage, adjusting his agbada that seemed a little too heavy for him. "My people," he began, looking at the teleprompter that had stopped working midway, "We have come a long way. In the next fiscal year, we promise to start thinking about the future. Our vision is clear: by 2100, we will have considered the possibility of addressing insecurity, hunger, and unemployment. Until then, stay hopeful!"
The people roared with laughter, but the President mistook it for praise. He waved grandly, relieved that he wouldn’t have to make any more decisions for at least another year.
As the summit concluded, citizens left the hall, their pockets no fuller, their roads no smoother, and their lights still flickering. But they had something the government was very proud to give them—endless, recycled hope, bottled up for the next election cycle.
And so, the nation marched forward, proudly stuck in place.
