Atanga Nji, Paul Tassong — you are not mere ministers. You are illusionists. Without firing a shot, you turn crises into carnival shows, constitutional questions into bread subsidies, and stolen mandates into soccer tournaments. You are the tranquilizer twins of a regime that lives on sedation
By The Independentist Political Satire Desk
Dear Ministers Paul Tassong and Atanga Nji,
First, allow us to extend our warmest congratulations. Steering a 92-year-old president’s re-election charade while maintaining a straight face is no easy task. It requires cunning, choreography, and copious amounts of beer. Luckily, you two have perfected the ancient art of political anesthesia — that refined blend of delay, distraction, and deceit that keeps citizens pleasantly sedated while the palace rearranges its puppets.
Because we care deeply about national comedy, here’s a little strategy memo — a gift from the “Eleventh Province” to its favorite crisis managers.
Step 1: Delay the Results. Always.
Never proclaim results immediately — that’s for amateurs. Wait three to four weeks. Let the hype curdle and the slogans dry up like last season’s campaign posters. By the time you finally announce the “winner,” the street fever will have broken. Disillusion is the best disinfectant.
Step 2: Distract with Soccer and Recruitment Drives
While the results are marinating in the electoral pot, launch massive public service recruitment. Promise 10,000 jobs that will never materialize. Everyone will be too busy queuing at photocopy shops to remember democracy.
And don’t forget soccer. Schedule international friendlies. Let the Indomitable Lions gallantly lose a match or two. Nothing pacifies like 90 minutes of tactical heartbreak.
Step 3: Drop the Price of Beer, Petrol, and Bread
The holy trinity of regime survival. Lower beer by 50 FCFA, shave a few francs off petrol, cheapen bread. The same people chanting “rigging!” today will be clinking bottles tomorrow, crumbs on their lips and foam on their moustaches.
Step 4: Pretend Recruitment Equals Reform
Announce new ministries, invent grand titles, appoint “special delegates” with no desks, no chairs, and no budgets. Call CRTV. Stage interviews. In Camerounese politics, titles are cheaper than bread — and far more filling for the ego.
Step 5: Call It Peace
Once the crowds are tired, distracted, and mildly tipsy, wheel out the results on national television. Declare “victory.” Call it “national unity.” Have the French Embassy help with the ballot logistics — after all, teamwork makes the rig work.
A Note to the Eleventh Province
Atanga Nji, Paul Tassong — you are not mere ministers. You are illusionists. Without firing a shot, you turn crises into carnival shows, constitutional questions into bread subsidies, and stolen mandates into soccer tournaments. You are the tranquilizer twins of a regime that lives on sedation.
But even the best magic show eventually ends. The audience sees the wires, the tricks lose their shine, and the applause fades. When that day comes, the “Eleventh Province” will have to decide: keep dancing for the palace or change the music.
Satirical Addendum
We forgive you, Uncle Atanga. We love you, Daddy Tassong. Thank you for keeping the circus alive while the nation waits for the real story to begin.
— The Independentist Political Satire Desk
