President John Dramani Mahama
The year is 2025. President JM, fresh from his triumphant return to power (having miraculously defeated the ‘Invisible Hand of Deceit and Lies’ wielded by the gluttonous Elephant that plagued him in 2016), wasted no time in fulfilling his campaign promise: Operation Recover All Loot (ORAL).
The acronym alone sent shivers down the spines of Yaanom, the name whispered in hushed tones as representing the ‘other’ political faction.
ORAL, headed by the unassuming Chief Investigator, Brigadier General Kwasi Peter, swept through the nation like a harmattan wind through a poorly thatched roof.
No contract was too small, no handshake too innocent, no ‘consultancy fee’ too obscure to escape Kwasi Peter’s relentless scrutiny.
The air was thick with the stench of exposed tender irregularities, looting of prime lands, suspiciously inflated road construction budgets, and ‘capacity-building workshops’ that suspiciously resembled all-expenses-paid vacations in Dubai.
Suddenly, the nation was gripped by a peculiar nostalgia. The infectious highlife rhythm of A.B. Crentsil’s *‘Atia’*—a song banned for decades, deemed ‘culturally insensitive’—began echoing from the unlikeliest places. It blared from *trotro* stereos, was hummed by market women, and even chirped as ringtones on surprisingly high-profile phones.
Why? Because the current situation mirrored the song’s infamous scenario. *Atia*, the northerner who abandoned his dog meat and pito for the intoxicating allure of akpeteshie, had now become a metaphor.
Yaanom, accused of indulging in the intoxicating allure of public funds, were finding their own akpeteshie induced demise fast approaching.
The parallels were inescapable and frankly, hilarious. Social media exploded with memes comparing Kwasi Peter to the angry Bolga youth demanding justice, albeit not for cultural slander, but for misappropriated national assets.
‘Whether you played Atia or not, ye be fii wo!’ became the rallying cry, the chant echoing outside Parliament as politicians squirmed in their seats.
One particularly jittery former Minister of Something-or-Other, now residing in a sprawling mansion suspiciously absent from his asset declaration forms, tried to commission a counter-song.
He envisioned a heartfelt highlife tune about fiscal responsibility, but his composer—terrified of ending up on Brigadier General Kwasi Peter’s ‘Persons of Interest’ list—produced instead a mournful dirge about the dangers of over-fermented corn. It flopped spectacularly.
Yaanom began employing increasingly desperate measures to avoid the inevitable ORAL probe. They made noise about the suspension of the Chief Justice; they also started wearing batakari, claiming a sudden interest in ‘traditional attire’.
They feigned sudden illnesses, citing everything from rare tropical diseases to acute anxiety induced by ‘aggressive accounting practices’.
One even attempted to adopt a thick Northern accent, claiming he had always identified more with Bolga than Accra.
But Brigadier General Kwasi Peter remained unmoved. He held press conferences, brandishing spreadsheets and damning documentary evidence. He quoted A.B. Crentsil’s *‘Atia’* with gleeful abandon, transforming the once-controversial song into the unofficial anthem of ORAL.
The climax arrived during the launch of the *Operation Feed Yourself* event. President JM, known for his eloquent speeches, stepped up to the podium. A hush fell over the crowd.
He cleared his throat, then launched into a lengthy explanation of the importance of fiscal responsibility and the government’s unwavering commitment to ORAL.
But as he finished, a lone trumpet blared. Then another. Soon, the entire Presidential Guard Brass Band was belting out ‘Atia’. The crowd erupted in cheers. Even President JM couldn’t help but crack a smile.
The message was clear. Whether they liked it or not, the loot would be recovered. And even if they managed to hide the evidence, bury the scandals, or rewrite history itself, they would forever be remembered as the Atias who traded national interest for personal gratification.
Their legacy, like the song, would be a cautionary tale—forever echoing through the annals of Ghanaian history.
