Once upon a time in the land of Umuofia—not the one Chinua Achebe warned us about, but its West African cousin with Wi-Fi and potholes—there lived a curious breed of humans known as Generous Public Servants.
These creatures were so magnanimous, they could donate cathedrals while still owing susu collectors from last month.
In this land, goats became cows by political declaration, and tortoises became bank managers without opening accounts.
Here, affliction came not by malaria or power cuts, but by a strange swelling of the ego—Public Charititis Magnifica. A peculiar condition that begins in the wallet and ends with untraceable generosity funded by what Umuofians politely call “not your father’s money.”
Let me take you to a smaller village within Umuofia’s domain—Tsalikorpe—where the local sage, Dumega Korshi Bebli, often said:
“When a man bathes in a golden basin but claims he sells kenkey, ask what maize he’s cooking with.”
Wise words, which resurfaced recently when a certain Lawyer Sammy Gyamfi—public official by profession, Father Christmas by aspiration—leaned out of his car window and, like a benevolent hawk, dropped foreign currency into the lap of a celebrity charm priestess turned Christian evangelist, Nana Evangelist Mama Pat Agradaa.
No fundraising. No raffle. Just raw dollar rain on a random Tuesday in an Umofia Charitry Show.
Now, in Umuofia, when a man receives a brown envelope under a table, we cry “Thief! Criminal! Sack him!”
But when the same man stands on a platform and donates ten thousand cedis to a church with a camera crew and live band, we shout “Ayekoo, Honourable! May your well never run dry!”
This is our grand national theatre:
• Act 1: Bribe is bad.
• Act 2: Public donation is divine.
• Act 3: Ask no questions lest you be accused of bitterness and poverty.
The generosity is so loud, even deaf ancestors in their graves are stirring.
But we the people, ever so generous with our applause, forget to ask:
“With whose money are you blessing us, dear Honourable?”
Because in Umuofia, scrutinizing lavish charity is considered witchcraft.
Our public servants, oh bless them, have cracked the code: give publicly, steal privately.
They build hospitals while living on a public servant salary, sponsor brain surgeries abroad while renting in East Legon, and donate cars to chiefs while struggling to explain how their shoe budget exceeds their salary.
Ask questions, and you’ll get the infamous reply: “Wo sika bi ayera anaa?” (Has your money gone missing?) A line so radioactive, even the Auditor-General has grown grey hair overnight.
We are chasing rats that stole corn while an elephant is chewing the entire barn with a toothpick.
We focus on those who secretly take, and ignore those who openly give.
But as my mother-in-law, Maame Ama Bio of blessed memory used to say while pounding fufu…
“Corruption, like pregnancy, can’t hide for long. If you want to know who’s expecting, don’t check the bedroom, check the belly.”
Now, the new Executive Code of Conduct, 2025, is here. Ah yes, the one drafted like a love letter to mediocrity.
It warns against “receiving gifts,” and mumbles something about “hampers,” but not a single word on those who donate stadiums, fund funerals with fanfare, or commission statues of themselves while still alive and kicking (and contesting).
It’s time we amend that code, my brothers and sisters.
No more applauding billion-dollar generosity from men earning teacher salaries…
Ban those shady “foundations” that wash money cleaner than lions that zoom. (pun intended)
Insist that if your income smells like the waakye seller, your generosity should not taste like the oil baron.
As my grandmother Wo’ada Vormawor of blessed memory used to say:
“If a mouse starts giving cows as gifts, check your barn.”
Well, Umuofia, we have checked.
The barn is empty.
The mice are rich.
And we… we are still clapping.
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DISCLAIMER: The Views, Comments, Opinions, Contributions and Statements made by Readers and Contributors on this platform do not necessarily represent the views or policy of Multimedia Group Limited.
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