SATIRE: "THE MENU" BY EDWARD S. KAMARA

Hahahahaha! 

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the jungle!

Where the lion wears a necktie, The hyena wears a suit, The fox is in charge of the treasury, And the parrot tells us the truth is mute.

Hahahahaha!

Welcome to THE MENU, Where everybody is hungry, But only a chosen few get to eat. Where the table is decorated with the nation's future, But the people are served the leftovers beneath their feet.

Here, the lion doesn't hunt for the nation, He hunts for the nation's share. The hyena doesn't laugh because life is funny, He laughs because the people are desperate, And desperation has become his favourite prayer.

The fox has mastered the mathematics of disappearance; Give him a billion, he'll return with a speech. Ask him where the money went, He'll point to the sky and say, "Development is coming, my people, just wait a little each week!"

Hahahahaha! What a wonderful circus!

The elephant promises us a bridge, The crocodile promises us a road, The monkey promises us electricity, While the tortoise says, "Be patient, my people, progress is a heavy load!"

But years have passed, And the bridge is still a picture, The road is still a nightmare, The electricity is still a rumour, And the only thing developing quickly Is the appetite of the animals who sit in the chamber.

Welcome to the Menu!

Where the national cake is baked with the sweat of the poor, But the hungry are never invited through the door. Where the people provide the ingredients, The animals choose the portions, And the chef who questions the recipe Is escorted straight to prison.

Oh, what a delicious democracy!

The lion says, "Every animal is free!" But the moment the goat asks, "Free to do what?" The hyena stops laughing, The fox closes the gate, And the parrot is suddenly accused Of disturbing the peace of the state.

Hahahahaha!

In this jungle, truth is a dangerous profession. A question is a crime, A criticism is a threat, And a mouth that speaks too honestly May be sentenced to silence before the sun sets.

The innocent rooster crows at dawn, Declaring what everybody can see. But before the morning reaches noon, The hawk has carried him away, And the remaining birds are advised to sing Only songs of praise and loyalty.

So the owl watches quietly. The dove swallows its message. The parrot forgets its vocabulary. And the people learn the national anthem Of fear, hunger, and compulsory gratitude.

Apparently, freedom of speech exists— Provided your speech agrees with the menu.

Now, let us discuss the stomach!

Because hunger in this jungle is no longer hunger; It has become a national emergency Wearing the face of an ordinary citizen.

Mothers boil water with empty pots, Hoping their children will mistake the steam for supper. Fathers walk home with their pockets full of promises And their hands too empty to answer The question, "Daddy, what are we eating tonight?"

Children go to bed negotiating with hunger, Telling their stomachs, "Please, just sleep until morning." And morning comes—not with breakfast, But with another announcement About how well the country is performing.

Hahahahaha! Somebody give the minister a medal!

The economy is growing, they say, But tell me, who is growing with it? The price of rice is climbing like a monkey, The cost of living is running like a cheetah, But the people's income is crawling like a wounded tortoise.

The numbers look beautiful on paper, Yet the market woman is crying over her basket. The teacher is calculating debts instead of lessons. The graduate is carrying certificates like funeral programmes, And the young man is asking his reflection, "Was education a promise, or another way to keep me waiting?"

Because in this jungle, You can graduate with excellence And still be unemployed with distinction. You can possess knowledge, talent, and ambition, Yet watch an empty stomach defeat your qualification While somebody's connection becomes your competition.

The menu has a special section for the connected.

If your uncle is a lion, Your nephew becomes a director. If your father is a fox, Your daughter becomes a consultant. If your family owns a seat at the table, Even your incompetence can be promoted.

But if you are the child of the soil, The one who wakes before the rooster, The one who studies beneath a leaking roof, The one who dreams beyond the village boundary, You must first learn how to survive Before anyone allows you to prove your ability.

Hahahahaha! What a meritocracy!

And what about our girls?

Ah, the little flowers of the jungle, Who should be carrying books, Drawing dreams in the margins of notebooks, And preparing to become doctors, engineers, Teachers, leaders, and mothers when they are ready.

Instead, some are carrying pregnancies Before they have finished carrying their schoolbags. Some are exchanging tomorrow's opportunities For today's survival. Some are being pushed out of classrooms By poverty, exploitation, pressure, And adults who have failed to protect their childhood.

Let us be honest: A hungry society places its children at risk. When families cannot afford the basics, When schools lack support, When protection is weak and opportunity is scarce, The youngest often pay the highest price For decisions they never made.

And the animals at the table? They are busy discussing the next election, The next convoy, the next contract, the next celebration.

Meanwhile, a girl who could have changed the nation Is fighting to keep her own future alive.

Tell me, Mr Fox, How many speeches will educate her? How many sirens will protect her? How many portraits of the lion Will put a book into her hands?

Hahahahaha! Please, somebody answer the child!

And education— What a beautiful word in the mouth of a hungry government!

We build a school in a speech, We renovate a classroom in a photograph, We employ a thousand teachers in a campaign, Then return to find the children sitting On broken benches, beneath leaking roofs, With textbooks too few for the number of dreams.

The teacher arrives with knowledge But sometimes leaves with unpaid frustration. The student arrives with ambition But sometimes leaves with an empty stomach. And the nation wonders why progress is late, As though you can harvest a forest After planting nothing but slogans.

You cannot educate a nation on applause.

You cannot build a future on political grammar. You cannot manufacture doctors without laboratories, Or engineers without equipment, Or responsible citizens by teaching them That silence is safer than honesty.

And the roads!

Hahahahaha! Let us laugh before we cry.

Our roads have become historical monuments, Preserving every pothole for future generations. The rainy season arrives, And the roads transform into swimming pools Without lifeguards, without warning signs, And without the courtesy of calling themselves rivers.

An ambulance struggles to reach the sick. A farmer struggles to reach the market. A student struggles to reach the classroom. A pregnant woman struggles to reach the hospital.

But somewhere, a powerful animal's vehicle Glides over a smooth road behind a convoy, And the driver complains that the journey is too long.

Imagine that!

The road to the palace is smooth, But the road to the people's future is broken. The leaders travel in comfort, While the citizens travel in questions.

Where are the hospitals with proper equipment? Where are the reliable water systems? Where are the industries that create employment? Where are the public libraries, research centres, And the infrastructure that gives a country dignity?

Why must a nation rich in human potential Keep importing hope from somewhere else?

Why must our young people cross oceans To search for the opportunities That should have been growing in their own soil?

Why does the youth have to choose Between staying home and starving Or leaving home and starting again?

Hahahahaha!

The animals call them impatient. They call them ungrateful. They call them dreamers who want too much.

But perhaps the young are not asking for too much. Perhaps they are asking for what was promised: A fair chance, a decent job, a working system, A country where talent matters more than connections, And a future that does not require an escape plan.

Now let us enter the treasury, The most mysterious kitchen in the jungle.

Here, public funds enter through the front door And sometimes leave through a thousand secret windows. A contract is awarded to a friend, A project is announced before it is completed, And a budget is celebrated Before the people can see what it delivered.

The fox calls it administration. The hyena calls it opportunity. The parrot calls it achievement. The hungry citizen calls it a missing meal.

I am only a poet, so let me ask a question:

If the money belongs to the people, Why must the people beg to know where it went?

If the contract is honest, Why should transparency be treated like an enemy?

If the project was completed, Why not let the public inspect it?

And if the animals are innocent, Why do they tremble whenever accountability knocks?

Hahahahaha! The menu is getting interesting!

There is a special dish called THE NATIONAL SACRIFICE.

It is served to the poor, Seasoned with taxes, Garnished with rising prices, And accompanied by a speech Explaining why the rich cannot be disturbed.

The people are told to tighten their belts, But the belts of the powerful keep getting wider. The citizens are asked to make sacrifices, But the sacrifices always seem to travel In one direction—from the people to the palace.

When the nation suffers, The people must be patient. When the people complain, The people must be respectful. When the people demand answers, The people must be careful.

But when the powerful want another term, Suddenly, everybody's voice becomes valuable.

They come carrying rice, They come carrying T-shirts, They come carrying promises wrapped in envelopes, And they call it love for the people.

They remember the forgotten community Only when the ballot box begins to look attractive.

The hand that gives you a temporary meal May be the same hand that signs away Your children's long-term future.

So, my people, ask yourselves:

Is a nation developed because its leaders are popular, Or because its people can live with dignity?

Is leadership about the size of a convoy, Or the number of lives improved?

Is patriotism measured by how loudly we clap, Or by how courageously we confront what is wrong?

Because a country is not a private kitchen. Its resources are not family inheritance. Its treasury is not an animal's personal stomach. And public office is not a licence To feast while the nation starves.

The country is not the menu. The country is the table we all must protect.

And here is the saddest joke of all:

The lion tells the animals, "We are moving forward!"

But the tortoise looks behind And sees the country moving backwards.

The owl checks the records. The goat checks the market prices. The donkey checks the school fees. The farmer checks the road. The mother checks the cooking pot. The graduate checks his unanswered applications.

And every single one of them asks the same question:

"Forward to where?"

Hahahahaha!

Perhaps the lion is moving forward While the nation is moving backwards. Perhaps the fox has mistaken personal wealth For national development. Perhaps the hyena has confused public silence With public satisfaction.

Or perhaps the animals have eaten so much of the future That they can no longer recognise What an empty tomorrow looks like.

But listen carefully, jungle!

A nation can survive a poor harvest. It can survive a difficult season. It can survive the mistakes of yesterday.

What it cannot survive forever Is a system where dishonesty is rewarded, Accountability is feared, Education is neglected, And the truth is buried Because it threatens somebody's appetite.

You can silence the rooster, But you cannot command the sun to stop rising.

You can lock the poet behind bars, But you cannot imprison every idea That has already escaped into the minds of the people.

You can block the road, But you cannot permanently stop a generation That has finally discovered The difference between obedience and justice.

You can buy a thousand voices, But you cannot purchase the conscience Of every citizen.

And you can keep serving the same menu, But one day the guests will begin reading the ingredients.

They will ask who cooked the meal, Who supplied the rice, Who swallowed the budget, Who broke the road, Who neglected the classroom, Who silenced the whistle-blower, And who decided that the poor Should pay for everybody else's feast.

That day, the laughter will change.

It will no longer be the hyena laughing at the hungry. It will be the people laughing at the absurdity Of having been told to celebrate their own deprivation.

It will be the young laughing at the lie That their dreams must die where they were born.

It will be the farmer laughing at the claim That a country can prosper while its producers suffer.

It will be the citizen laughing at the idea That a leader is greater than the nation That gave him the opportunity to lead.

And perhaps, for the first time, The animals will understand That the jungle was never theirs alone.

Because the people are not ingredients. The poor are not disposable plates. The youth are not statistics. The girls are not collateral damage. The truth is not a criminal. And the nation is not a feast Reserved for those who know the chef.

So, ladies and gentlemen, Before I leave this magnificent restaurant, Let me make one final announcement.

Hahahahahahahaha!

THE MENU IS CLOSED!

Not because the people are no longer hungry, But because they are tired of being hungry In a country where food exists.

Not because the people have stopped speaking, But because they are tired of being punished For saying what everybody knows.

Not because the people have stopped dreaming, But because they refuse to keep dreaming While their future is being eaten alive.

We want roads that carry opportunity, Schools that produce knowledge, Hospitals that protect life, Jobs that reward ability, Institutions that respect the law, And leaders who understand That power is a responsibility, not a personal banquet.

We want a nation where a young person Does not need a powerful relative to succeed, Where a girl can finish school without losing her future, Where a journalist can ask questions without fear, Where a citizen can disagree without becoming an enemy, And where public money can be accounted for Without the whole jungle panicking.

We want progress that can be seen, Not promises that must be believed.

We want freedom that can be practised, Not freedom that exists only in speeches.

We want leadership that serves, Not leadership that feeds.

And if the animals cannot understand this, Then perhaps they should leave the kitchen And allow those who understand the meaning of service To prepare a better future.

Because the true measure of a country Is not how much its leaders can consume, But how well its people can live.

Until then, my people, remember:

When corruption becomes the chef, Poverty becomes the main course.

When truth becomes a crime, Silence becomes the prison.

When the powerful eat the future, The children inherit the hunger.

And when a nation becomes a menu, Every citizen must ask:

"Am I living in this country, Or am I simply one of its ingredients?"

Hahahahaha!

The joke is funny until you realise that somebody's real life is the punchline.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, Is THE MENU.

A jungle of promises. A restaurant of stolen possibilities. A table of unequal portions. A nation waiting for its next chapter.

I'm but a joker😂😂.

©EDWARD S. KAMARA 

-Sierra Leone 

"The Menu" by Edward S. Kamara is a political satirical poem that exposes corruption, bad governance, abuse of power, social inequality, and the suffering of ordinary citizens. Through animal imagery and the metaphor of a restaurant, the poet portrays political leaders as selfish animals who exploit national resources for personal gratification while the masses are left with hunger, unemployment, poverty, poor education, inadequate healthcare, and decaying infrastructure. The poem also condemns nepotism, electoral manipulation, suppression of freedom of expression, and the neglect of women and children. Using humour, irony, sarcasm, rhetorical questions, and allegory, the poet highlights the hypocrisy of political leaders who celebrate imaginary progress while citizens struggle with harsh realities. Ultimately, the poem calls for accountability, transparency, responsible leadership, social justice, and a nation where public resources serve the collective interests of the people rather than the appetites of a privileged few.