Parliament of Goats is not just a metaphor—it’s our daily reality, where goats graze outside Parliament while Honourables debate grass inside and somehow chew louder. Allowances bloom, potholes deepen, and motions travel faster than progress. If you’re still looking for your road, check beneath the committee’s beachside retreat; the minutes may be sandy.
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In the Republic of Uncommon Sense, Parliament sits on a hill—but the real hill is the mound of promises and allowances that keep it green. Some say Honourables debate laws; the rest of us suspect they debate grass—and chew it too. They gather in suits so sharp they could slice through the national debt, if only they knew where the debt was hiding. Roll call begins: half are absent, yet all are present when allowances land—proof that attendance improves when envelopes circulate.
Parliament of Goats: Committees That Birth Committees
Here’s our national magic trick: a motion forms a committee, which forms a sub-committee, which recommends another committee to investigate the first committee that was set up to inspect a pothole that swallowed an entire constituency promise. Their inaugural meeting? A resort by the beach, because the ocean breeze improves objectivity. Another per diem. More chewing.
Meanwhile, the real goats graze outside the fence, nibbling the very grass the budget forgot. Real grass feeds real goats; budget grass feeds phantom contractors and middlemen with bigger teeth than bulldozers.
Parliament of Goats: The Gavel, The Envelope, and the Empty Chair
The Speaker bangs the gavel—“Let decorum guide our proceedings!”—but decorum is just another goat; it bolts when brown envelopes stroll in. The opposition chants about corruption; the majority pounds tables in righteous thunder. By tomorrow, a few will cross the floor, not to switch ideology but to sniff fresher grass. Loyalty, here, is a grazing right.
Parliament of Goats: Roads That Never Arrive
Outside, a taxi dodges potholes so wide they deserve their own MPs. The driver laughs at the radio: “They say they’re debating roads. Which roads? The ones we build ourselves with stones and goodwill?” Every election season, the vow is the same—“We will fix your roads.” Every season, the result is the same—your shock absorbers get fixed instead. In the Parliament of Goats, promises travel faster than asphalt.
For broader context on urban transport headaches across Africa, see BBC Africa coverage. For local headlines and civic commentary, browse GhanaWeb.
Allowances Over Accountability
Inside, flashes pop; microphones hum; statements swell with grammar taller than bridges. “Accountability is our top priority,” they say—while the only items accounted for are the sitting allowance, the fuel coupons, and the new Prado at the back gate. Constituency offices nap behind padlocks. Weeds grow where voters once queued for school fees. When an elder asks about the new borehole, the secretary smiles: “Honourable is on official assignment.” Location? Europe—studying how boreholes work. Perhaps the water there obeys better.
Journalists, Elections, and the Ritual of Rice
Journalists come hunting for truth; they leave with sound bites and selfies. When debate turns to actual voting, watch the House empty like a trotro at the last stop. Near elections, the Honourable remembers the people: canopies arrive, rice arrives, speeches arrive, and the same road is promised for the tenth budget cycle. The goats outside simply watch. They never chew the same patch twice if it never grows back. Wisdom, it seems, happily grazes on four legs.
What We Can Do (Besides Laugh)
- Enforce lane discipline and reserve shoulder lanes strictly for emergencies.
- Fix lighting and drainage so roads don’t audition as swimming pools with streetlights as lifeguards.
- Publish a maintenance calendar with timelines citizens can track without binoculars.
- Reward sanity on the road—yes, celebrate good driving. Carrots sometimes beat fines.
Until that day, we survive with humor. As a plain English saying goes: If you want to know someone’s character, watch them when no one is watching. Perhaps we should watch our Honourables when the cameras are off and the envelopes are quiet.
Final Roll Call
If you laughed, nodded, or sighed through this session of the Parliament of Goats, welcome—your constituency is called Reality. Your allowance is laughter today, action tomorrow. Goats may chew the grass, but citizens decide the harvest.
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📘 Read More from the Republic
If this satire made you laugh, think, or shake your head, you’ll love my book Once Upon a Time in Ghana: Satirical Chronicles from the Republic of Uncommon Sense. Witty tales, cultural humor, and civic common sense—served hot.
