In a stunning display of emotional rhetoric and uncanny wit, Nigeria’s Minister of Hope, Fola Lamenta, delivered an impassioned plea for optimism in the capital city of Abuja this week, skillfully sidestepping the festering issues of corruption, insecurity, and the daily struggles of citizens that have haunted the nation for decades. Surrounded by a bewildered crowd at the National Ambiance Hall, the Minister, known for her ability to draw tears and laughter in equal measure, painted an optimistic picture of a Nigeria that may soon be just around the corner—if you squint hard enough and hold your breath. “Abuja is the heart of Nigeria,” she declared, her voice trembling with faux emotion while her heart presumably was tucked in a Swiss bank account. “But like any heart, it needs a little tending—preferably with a thousand naira notes, some well-placed promises, and maybe a prayer or two.” The crowd erupted in applause, though many were secretly calculating how much they could save by not buying a new generator. During her speech, the Minister lamented the “broken promises that litter our streets like abandoned campaign posters.” She reminded the attendees that the essence of hope cannot be measured by economic growth or stable power supply. Instead, it can be gauged by the number of wallets emptier than her campaign promises. “If my words can uplift just one person today, then my work is done!” she exclaimed, her hand clasping a stack of envelopes stuffed with taxpayer money earmarked for ‘future endeavors.’ To emphasize her point, she shared a series of testimonials from ordinary Nigerians—narratives handpicked from a focus group comprised entirely of her relatives. “Auntie Ngozi, tell them how regularly you receive consistent electricity!” she beamed as her aunt understatedly mentioned having power for eight hours in the past month. Echoing the sentiments of the gathering, Auntie Ngozi added, “At least the darkness has given me time to reflect on the futility of life.” As the speech progressed, it became clear that the Minister’s version of hope involved a compulsory subscription to blind optimism. “Remember our motto,” she said with a sly smile, “Hope is an illusion; let’s capitalize on it!” She then promptly unveiled a new campaign initiative: “Hope for Sale,” which allows citizens to purchase small packets of ‘Certified Optimism’ for a mere 500 naira each—a steep discount from last year’s 1,000-naira price. The event culminated in a heart-wrenching appeal to the citizens of Abuja to donate to the "Pledge for Broken Dreams" fund, supporting various non-existent projects. “Every naira counts towards nothing short of a better tomorrow!” she proclaimed, attempting to suppress her laughter. Although most attendees left the event clutching their aching sides in hysterics, others were left contemplating the deep irony of a Minister of Hope standing before them, a living paradox in a land of broken dreams. For many, the real heartbreak lay in the recognition that the only thing being truly mended was the Minister's own career trajectory, stitched together with gilded promises and an ever-burgeoning pile of public funds. As Abuja returned to its everyday life of potholes and power cuts, the faint echo of Fola Lamenta’s plea lingered in the air: a reminder that sometimes, hope comes disguised as satire, and the greatest laughs are often just a masked cry for help.