Madness, Dumsor, and the Grand Umbrella Conspiracy: A Case for Two Psychiatric Hospitals

It is a truth universally acknowledged that everyone is just one special kind of blow away from a full-blown mental escape act. Dr. Philip G. Zimbardo, former President of the American Psychological Association and celebrated expert in the human psyche, assured us that madness isn’t reserved for the unfortunate few; no, it lurks behind every smile, sneaks in between every sandwich bite, ready to pounce at the delicate moment your self-image takes a nosedive. In short, the sane are merely patients in waiting.

So, when a musician on the streets suddenly screams, “I dey mad oh, I dey go crazy!” and another warbles, “Ole seka ni wo ye” (roughly translated: do you know how mad we are?), while a third gentleman repeatedly pounds his fist into the side of his head chanting “Abodam!”—no, dear reader, don’t dismiss it as street theatre or harmless eccentricity. This is a warning sign. Things are indeed “knocking things,” and as my good friend will say: “they are slipping coming.”

Which brings me to the urgent matter: the young man from Bole must urgently commission not one, but at least two brand new psychiatric hospitals. The old ones won’t suffice. A nation on the verge of collective insanity deserves facilities worthy of its new status: mad as a marching band, and twice as noisy.

Why the madness, you ask? The answer lies tangled in accusations, conspiracies, and—oh yes—the infamous dumsor saga. It has been alleged that Yaanom, a mischievous faction, have enlisted rogue regional and district officials to deliberately induce “dumsor” as a way of sabotaging the government’s grand umbrella. Particularly in the beleaguered Oseikrom Region, which has been in a near-perpetual dance with darkness and candlelight.

Allegations abound that these schemers collaborate with “external actors” (who, nobody knows, but they sound dark and dangerous) to turn the power off and on like a flickering insane switch. While the nation debates whether these claims are fact or fiction, one former Yaanom front-runner stepped forward to confirm the nefarious plot with an air of theatrical confession.

“In 2016,” he declared, “we met with technocrats and heads of state institutions to help sabotage the government. I was on the front line, not a back bencher, so I know most of the strategies.” With that bold admission, surely no one can doubt that at least some part of this power crisis is deliberate sabotage brewed in shadowy corners by our very own countrymen, or kikikikikiki, countrymadmen.

Then the madness deepens: prices keep rising, inflation supposedly falls on paper, and the Umbrella—once the proud emblem of governance—fades in colour and confidence. Surely, this is the handiwork of Yaanom again, desperately trying to punch holes in the Umbrella while the young man from Bole’s government, scandal-free for seventeen months deep into its second term, stares stoically into these attacks.

It is, indeed, an evidence of human endurance: how, when faced with such conspiratorial pressure from within, a government refuses to buckle. But for the saboteurs to slip so low as to betray their own shores and twist the nation into chaos. This is what I call S3 preeee Se preeee, abodam!

So, my fellow citizens, as we watch the dance of darkness and listen to the cries of madness spilling from every corner, let us demand from the young man from Bole not just one, but two shining psychiatric hospitals where some people can check in for a healthy dose of reality and perhaps a cordial chat about why they are "slipping coming," and why "things are knocking things."

Anthony Obeng Afrane

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