Banquets and Battalions: A Satirical Comedy of Errors, By Favour Nneji Amako

As Tunde and I sat in the bustling Abuja café, the absurdity of our conversation contrasted sharply with the seriousness of the topic—the government’s bizarre handling of the upcoming nationwide protests. The place buzzed with life, much like our disbelief at the antics of those in power.

Tunde leaned back, a mischievous grin on his face. “Did you catch Akpabio’s latest? ‘Those who want to protest can protest, but let us be there eating.’ It’s like they’re auditioning for a comedy show!”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Seriously! They must think the protests are a banquet, and they’re the VIPs. The country is burning with frustration, and they’re planning their menus. Maybe they think serving jollof rice will pacify the angry masses.”

Tunde chuckled, nodding. “Or perhaps they’re planning to hand out suya and cold drinks. Keep the protesters well-fed and hydrated, right? And then they budget 6 billion naira to ‘manage’ the protests. I suppose they’re planning to rent out the National Stadium for a grand picnic!”

I snorted, “Yeah, with a live band and maybe a few comedians to lighten the mood. It’s like they believe throwing a party will distract everyone from the fact that they can barely afford bread. Or they think they’ll bribe everyone with snacks to keep quiet.”

Tunde leaned in, his eyes gleaming. “And the cherry on top? Tinubu’s daughter saying the protest won’t hold in Lagos. As if she’s the city’s bouncer, saying, ‘Sorry, no entry for protests today.’ Like she can just reschedule people’s hunger and frustration.”

I grinned. “Right! It’s like trying to tell a storm to come back later because you’re not ready. The government’s approach is as useful as a chocolate teapot.”

Tunde laughed. “And then there’s the deployment of soldiers. It’s like they’re expecting an invasion. Are they preparing to defend against an army of baguette-wielding protesters? What’s next, armored vehicles against people armed with placards?”

I shook my head, still laughing. “They must think the protesters are coming with trebuchets and battering rams. It’s like a live-action role-playing game, with the government in full medieval armor, fighting imaginary dragons while the real enemy—poverty—marches right in.”

Tunde smirked, raising an eyebrow. “And don’t forget the other politicians chiming in. One actually said people are protesting for fun, like it’s a new hobby. Right, because starving is such a blast. ‘What do you want to do today?’ ‘Oh, maybe skip a few meals and go protest!'”

I couldn’t help but laugh harder. “Or the one who called the protests a ‘fashion statement.’ As if people are showcasing the latest in protest chic! Maybe next they’ll release a ‘Protest Collection’—complete with tear gas-resistant jackets and placard accessories.”

Tunde shook his head, chuckling. “It’s like a bad sitcom. You almost expect a laugh track every time they speak. But the reality is, they’re completely out of touch with the struggles of ordinary Nigerians. They’re hosting a feast while the country starves.”

I sighed, the laughter fading. “The sad part is, they think they can keep this charade going indefinitely. They underestimate the anger brewing beneath the surface. People are fed up with being ignored and patronized.”

Tunde nodded solemnly. “True. It’s like they’re sitting on a powder keg, blissfully unaware of the burning fuse. They can’t keep ignoring the people’s pain and expect things to just blow over. Sooner or later, the voices of the people will be too loud to drown out.”