(OPINION) The Return of the Stomach Council: A Tragedy in Three Courses

By Kelechi Nwosu (with apologies to common sense)

Today in Umuobiakwa, history trembled, not from awe, but from deja vu-induced indigestion. The conclave of yesterday's men gathered again, not in sackcloth or repentance, but in native attire freshly starched with nostalgia. Their mission? To thank their "principal.ÔÇØ Their real mission? To remind Abians that they are not quite done with us.

The procession of loyalty began as expected teary-eyed tributes, followed by polished platitudes. "Your Excellency, you are a rare gem!ÔÇØ one chorused. "Your silence has been louder than thunder!ÔÇØ intoned another. Somewhere between flattery and flummox, the former Governor nodded with the gravity of a man who had just successfully cloned failure into folklore.

For those watching, it was not a meeting, it was a political s├®ance. A gathering of political ghosts who still believe the people's memory is shorter than their list of unpaid gratuities.

The Chairman of the Stomach Council, Dr. Okezie Ikpeazu, sat at the head, radiating calm wisdom like a man who slept through his own eight-year reign and just woke up to discover the party was over. But rather than acknowledge the debris left behind, he offered a performance in revisionist theatre. With solemn voice and poetic calm, he reminded them: "I meant well."

Of course, meaning well is not the same as doing well. But in this school of political escapism, intentions are the new achievements. Failed road projects are now "legacy visions.ÔÇØ Abandoned hospitals are "uncompleted dreams.ÔÇØ Even Faulks Road, which now resembles the surface of the moon, was hailed as "a testimony of effort.ÔÇØ

Some came with gifts of praise, others with empty pockets and hope. The real banquet, however, was the menu of delusion:

Starter: A warm serving of rewritten history, lightly garnished with self-pity.
Main course: Boiled denial, marinated in entitlement, and served with side dishes of conspiracy theories ("they sabotaged us!ÔÇØ).
Dessert: A frothy mousse of 2027 ambitions though no one mentioned it directly, their stomachs whispered louder than their mouths.

At one point, an overzealous aide possibly out of employment too long suggested a monument be built in honour of Dr. Ikpeazu's "unwavering humility.ÔÇØ The proposal was taken under consideration, pending foreign loans.

As the meeting wound down, someone attempted to sing a chorus of "Solidarity Forever,ÔÇØ but forgot the lyrics. A fitting end for a team whose idea of governance was far more musical than mechanical.

Abians watching at home could only sigh.

We remember the promises. We remember the PowerPoint cities that never rose. We remember the eight years where the only thriving industry was press conferences. And we certainly remember the unpaid salaries, pensions and vanishing polytechnic salaries.

So, while the retired apostles of patronage politics gather to clap for themselves in private compounds, Abia moves on in daylight, in dignity, and, hopefully, in discernment.

Let them gather. Let them toast to their former glory.

But let it be known: the kitchen is closed, the menu has changed, and the waiter now wears glasses.