In the Republic of Uncommon Sense, real solutions gather dust while PowerPoint Pirates glide from buffet to buffet, pitching the same recycled slides to nodding suits. Here, buzzwords drain budgets, sign-in sheets prove “impact,” and the only thing that transforms is the pirate’s bank balance — while your problems stay stuck in Slide 1.
There’s a special breed of professional whose briefcase is always heavy, but their ideas are lighter than their invoice: the fake consultant, known in whispers as the PowerPoint Pirate.
These smooth talkers appear just when a project budget needs a gentle siphon. They arrive in crisp suits, imported laptops, and fancy titles nobody verifies. “Strategic Transformation Expert.” “Results-Based Delivery Architect.” “Synergy Facilitator.” The fancier the title, the emptier the folder.
They flourish in hotels with free Wi-Fi and buffet lunch. There, they host “Capacity Building Workshops” for civil servants who already know the work but must sit through three days of bullet points that promise to “redefine stakeholder paradigms.”
The PowerPoint slides are their magic carpet — downloaded from the internet, sprinkled with local logos, garnished with confusing charts that mean nothing once the projector goes dark. They flip through 50 slides in 15 minutes, clap for themselves, then pass around sign-in sheets to claim “knowledge transfer” happened.
Outside the hotel, the real work limps on: the new system they promised breaks before lunch, the “manual” they wrote is a recycled Wikipedia page, the big strategy they “co-created” dies quietly when the final invoice clears.
Ask them for results and they’ll deliver another slide deck: “Lessons Learned & Way Forward.” It’s the same presentation they used for the last contract — only the logo changes. Sometimes they don’t even bother changing the font.
When the donor shows up asking, “Where’s the impact?” the pirates hold another retreat. Another venue. Another sign-in sheet. Another polite applause for imaginary progress. The taxpayer foots the bill while the consultant’s next vacation destination foots the joy.
Their real skill is networking. They know who to flatter, which handshake to film for LinkedIn, whose quote to insert on Slide 42. They feed on buzzwords — “transformational,” “digital-first,” “next-generation synergy.” By the time they finish talking, nobody remembers the problem they were hired to solve.
Take, for instance, the all-too-familiar “Capacity Building Retreat.” It begins with a glossy flyer promising to “redefine paradigms” and “strengthen stakeholder engagement.” Civil servants are bused to a hotel by the beach, where the real highlight is the buffet table groaning under fried rice, jollof, and bottled water. After a prayer, introductions, and three icebreakers, the consultant launches into a 50-slide deck — each slide busier than the Accra traffic circle at rush hour.
Nobody remembers slide 12 by the time they reach slide 13, but everyone claps anyway. By lunch, participants have learned only one thing: the difference between meat pie A and meat pie B. By evening, the sign-in sheet proves “impact,” while the real problems that brought them there are waiting faithfully back at the office.
Sometimes, the PowerPoint Pirate mutates into an international consultant. They fly in, deliver the same speech they gave in Nairobi last month, sip the same bottled water, nod at the same empty questions — then fly out with pockets heavier and local results lighter than air.
Meanwhile, the actual expert — the civil servant who’s done the work for 30 years — sits quietly at the back, taking notes he doesn’t need, clapping for a solution that solves nothing, waiting for the pirate to leave so he can fix the mess alone.
And when the dust settles, the same department invites new pirates for “phase two implementation.” Another proposal. Another workshop. Another download from Google dressed as policy advice.
If you doubt it, look at the number of abandoned strategies littering government shelves. Each one had a “technical advisor,” each one launched with a press release, each one ended as a PDF nobody ever opened again.
Real Expertise vs. Fake Consultants
In the Republic of Uncommon Sense, results are rare commodities. Unlike the PowerPoint Pirates who promise transformation and deliver empty slides, some experts actually know their craft.
Take dog trainers, for instance. Adrienne Farricelli’s Brain Training for Dogs doesn’t come with hotel buffets or recycled jargon — just practical, step-by-step guidance that turns even the most stubborn dog into a well-behaved companion. That’s real impact, not a PowerPoint illusion.
Meanwhile, the buffet table remains the PowerPoint Pirate’s true battlefield. Stacks of pastries, endless coffee refills, and networking over fried rice fuel their “strategic sessions.” If only transformation were that easy. For real results, some of us skip the hotel buffets and grab something practical — like the 21-Day Smoothie Diet, a proven plan for shedding pounds and regaining energy. No jargon, no buzzwords, no invoice padded with per diems — just healthier choices that deliver visible change.
In the Republic of Uncommon Sense, wisdom often hides in proverbs. The elders remind us: “The one who sells wisdom cheaply is often the first to buy confusion.” And yet, our PowerPoint Pirates make a living by recycling confusion into consultancy packages. They know how to clap for themselves, but as another proverb goes, “When the drummer plays offbeat, even the dancers stumble.” The real tragedy is that institutions continue to dance to their tune.
So next time you see a shiny flyer that says “High-Level Strategy Engagement for Sectoral Repositioning” — don’t clap too hard. Whisper a proverb to calm your taxpayer’s heart:
“When the parrot talks too much, the palm nut remains uneaten.”
Fake consultants in the Republic of Uncommon Sense thrive because systems reward noise over substance. They drain budgets with jargon, while the real experts — those who have lived the problems and know the solutions — are sidelined. If nothing changes, the PowerPoint Pirates will keep sailing from one contract to the next. But if we begin to value results over rhetoric, our beloved Republic can finally throw these fake consultants overboard and reclaim the ship of progress.
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