“Parliament of Goats” is what we call it when politicians in the Republic of Uncommon Sense run out of budgets to loot and suddenly discover a passion for debating the price of grass. Suits pressed sharper than cutlasses, voices booming through microphones — all to argue over blades of green while potholes grow deep enough to swallow a constituency promise.

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Parliament sits on a hill, yes — but the real hill is the mountain of allowances and phantom projects that keep it lush. For those curious how the “serious version” looks, you can always check the official Parliament website — but proceed at your own risk.

They gather in suits so crisp they could slice through the national debt — if only they knew where the debt was hiding. Roll call begins: half are absent, but all are present when it’s time to collect the sitting allowance — even if they never really sit.

The “Parliament of Goats” thrives on endless debates about grass because grass never bites back. Real problems like jobs, roads, and boreholes demand results, but grass only demands speeches. It’s the safest way to look busy while staying well-fed on allowances.

Inside, microphones hum with big English longer than the national budget’s excuses. One MP stands up: “Mr. Speaker, our roads are crying!” Another retorts: “Point of Order!” Which means: “My travel per diem hasn’t cleared yet.”

Sometimes a motion passes to form a new committee — to investigate the last committee — that was supposed to investigate a pothole that swallowed an entire constituency promise. The committee books its first meeting at a beach resort. Another per diem. More chewing. This is why the ‘Parliament of Goats’ is less about fixing roads and more about grazing on allowances.

It’s a replay of promises you’ve already read in our satire on Shatta Wale’s Lamborghini politics

Sometimes, the cure is not another committee, but a [gut health fix] that actually works.

Meanwhile, the real goats graze outside the Parliament fence, nibbling the same grass Honourables forget to mention — because real grass feeds real goats, but budget grass feeds only phantom contractors and rent-seeking middlemen.

For a healthier gut (and skin that won’t age like Parliament), try this [probiotic solution]

The Speaker bangs the gavel: “Let decorum guide our proceedings!” But decorum is just another goat — it bolts out the back door when the brown envelopes sneak through the front.

The opposition stands, wagging fingers about corruption. The ruling side pounds their tables in protest. Tomorrow, some will cross the floor — not to switch ideology, but to sniff out fresher grass on the other side.

Outside, the taxi driver dodges potholes so wide they deserve their own MP. He laughs at the radio: “They say they’re debating roads. Which roads? The ones we build ourselves with old tyres and gravel?”

Back inside, the Honourables pose for the cameras: “Accountability is our top priority!” Meanwhile, the only thing accounted for is the sitting allowance, the fuel coupons, and the new Prado parked at the back gate.

The constituency office in the hometown stays locked, weeds growing where voters once lined up for school fees and funeral donations. When an elder calls to ask when the new borehole will come, the Honourable’s secretary replies: “He’s on official assignment.” The assignment? Touring Europe to learn how boreholes work.

Journalists peek in, hoping for answers. They get sound bites and selfies instead. When debate turns into actual voting, watch how quickly the House empties — Honourables scurry away like startled goats when the herdsman swings the stick.

Sometimes, when elections loom, the Honourable remembers the people. He hires a DJ, rents canopies, shares rice and cloth — and promises to fix the same road he promised to fix ten budget cycles ago. The goats outside just watch. They know better than to chew the same patch of grass twice if it never grows back.

If citizens study the “Parliament of Goats,” they’ll learn one truth: goats chew only what grows. Our Honourables, however, keep chewing the same promises year after year, even when nothing grows. At least the goats know when to move on.

And so the Parliament endures: a grand hall where thunderous applause masks empty pockets, where laws sit on dusty shelves while new allowances get fresh signatures. When the lights go out during a blackout, Honourables wave it off: “The situation is under control.”

The real goats outside don’t know blackout or Wi-Fi. They chew their honest grass, rain or shine, no wardrobe allowance needed. They wander but never defect. They don’t file motions, but they fertilise the same earth the MPs stand on to promise change.

At the end of the day, the Parliament of Goats in the Republic of Uncommon Sense may be the only house where truth still grazes. The real goats outside Parliament chew their grass and move on when nothing grows. Our Honourables, meanwhile, keep chewing the same empty promises year after year — and somehow expect voters to swallow them. If only politics could borrow a little wisdom from the Parliament of Goats, the nation might finally stop feeding on speeches and start harvesting results.

📚 PS: From Goats to Chronicles…

If the Parliament of Goats made you laugh, sigh, or shake your head… you haven’t seen anything yet.

Welcome to the full chronicles of the Republic of Uncommon Sense — where VIP convoys outrun common sense, potholes get bigger committees than schools, and Honourables always remember their voters (just in time for free rice and T-shirts).

That’s exactly what you’ll find in my book:
Once Upon a Time in Ghana: Satirical Chronicles from the Republic of Uncommon Sense.

It’s a witty, biting, and unapologetically funny look at how we govern, mis-govern, and sometimes just goat-vern. Each chapter takes everyday absurdities and serves them with humor, sarcasm, and a good sprinkle of truth.

Inside you’ll discover:

• 📖 Essays that make you laugh till you cry — then cry till you laugh again.
• 🐐 Politicians, prophets, and potholes exposed in full satirical glory.
• 🍚 The culture of “allowances” served hotter than waakye at Circle.
• 🎭 Characters and caricatures you’ll recognize instantly — though they’ll never admit it.

👉 Grab your copy now on Amazon (Kindle and Hardcover).

Because if you enjoyed five minutes in the Parliament of Goats, you’ll love spending hours in the Republic of Uncommon Sense. And unlike our Honourables, this book actually delivers.