A punocrat goes to a beer parlour

Dear Punocracy,

I hope this letter meets you in a beer parlour. That would mean it meets you very well.

I, Egbere, have finally entered a beer parlour. Not because I have money. I entered because I was looking for truth and light to charge my phone and laptop. A renowned drunkard told me truth no longer stays in courtrooms, press conferences or Houses of God. Truth now stays where there is cold drink and yummy pork. He also instructed me to work in light, for those who don’t work in light are workers of iniquity.

You will remember that I have been lamenting outside. Lamenting about budget, lamenting about prisons, lamenting about bad roads, lamenting about the Governor’s son who mistook Twitter for an ancestral shrine. My lamentations have filled two pages on Punocracy. But I have never lamented inside.

So last Tuesday, at about 7:42 pm, when NEPA took light for the third time and Darkness wanted to start a relationship with me, I took my two left legs to Lucy’s Beer Parlour at Jekadafari, here in Jala town. They say she sells Original Betters alongside Orijinal Bitters. I did not know the difference until that night.

The beer parlour is not one at all. Save for the cubicle with seats, customers have only the sunset as their canopy. But inside that small place, Nigeria was complete. This shall be a talk for another letter.

In one corner, Erico and Jacky discussed exchange rates like CBN governors. In another corner were Jolly and Shonwo – secondary school teachers –  arguing whether it is better to japa or to manage. And in the middle, with a bottle sweating more than a thief caught in Jalingo Market by touts, was a man. He was not drinking. He was watching. He had big glasses, a small notebook, and the face of a man who has read too many government press releases. I knew immediately: this is a writer that we are yet to publish on Punocracy. Let’s say he is a Punocrat in the diaspora.

I have heard about Punocrats. They are not like journalists. Journalists report that it rained. Punocrats report that the government said it did not rain, even while we are swimming. I, Egbere, have been trying to be a Punocrat, but hunger does not allow me. So I moved closer. “Sir,” I said, “You wan drink Bitters or Betters?” He looked at me. He said, “My son, I drink Observation. That one strong pass.” That was how my lecture started.

He said: “Egbere, you want to know why Nigeria’s best policies are formed in beer parlours and not in FEC meetings?” I said I want to know. He said: “First, in FEC meetings, everybody agrees with oga. If oga says black is white, they clap. In beer parlour, if you say black is white after two bottles, somebody will slap sense into you. That is checks and balances.” I wrote it down.

“Second,” he said, “In government, they call it ‘stakeholder engagement’ and spend ₦50 million to rent a hall. In beer parlour, stakeholder engagement is ‘Oga, shift make I sit down.’ No budget, no communique, but everybody’s voice is heard.” I bought him one more Bitters in appreciation of this wisdom.

He continued: “Do you see that waiter? That small boy is the most honest public servant in Nigeria. He practises true accountability. If you drink, you pay. If you don’t pay, you wash plates. No committee, no EFCC. Immediate consequence. If INEC worked like Danny, Lucy Beer Parlour’s waiter, we would not have court cases after every election.”

At this point, a fight started in the other corner. One man said fuel subsidy removal is good. Another said it is wickedness. They screamed. They almost fought. Then Danny cried out, “If you break bottle, you go pay ooo!” And they settled instantly.

The Observer smiled. “You see? That is rule of law. Simple and short. Not a 400-page constitution that police do not read. ‘If you break bottle, you pay’ — that is a law even illiterate can obey. Our problem is not that we don’t have laws. Our problem is that our laws are not written in beer parlour grammar.”

I asked him, “Sir, what about ORIJINnal Bitters and Original Betters? Which one should a Punocrat drink?” He laughed, and for the first time in a while, he took a sip.

“Egbere, this is the secret they don’t want you to know. The government produces Bitters. Every budget, every fuel price increase, every long speech that says nothing — that is Bitters. It is bitter in your mouth, bitter in your stomach. But they bottle it and call it ‘Reform’ or ‘Sacrifice’ or the sweetest name of them all,  ‘Renewed Hope.'”

“Betters is what the people brew themselves. When you laugh at government despite hunger, that is Betters. When you turn their failure into meme, into joke, into satire — that is Betters. It does not remove the suffering, but it makes it digestible. It makes you think better, see better, speak better.”

“A Punocrat does not sell Bitters. Anybody can sell Bitters. A Punocrat brews Betters from Bitters. We take their bitters and ferment it into better understanding. That is why they fear us more than opposition. Opposition wants their seat. We want people to see their seat is empty.”

I felt wisdom descend on me like the tongues of fire that descended on the early apostles.

The generator coughed. NEPA light flashed and died again. The Punocrat said, “You see? Nigeria has been on generator since 1960. We fuel it with our own money, we inhale the smoke, we repair it ourselves. Yet we still pay NEPA bills. That is the social contract. And in beer parlours, we all know it. Government doesn’t drink in beer parlours, so they don’t know this.

By 10 pm, I had spent ₦150,000 on 2 small bitters and Trophy Stout. It was all the money I had received as my monthly take-home that I couldn’t take home. That is another tori for another day. But my head was clearer than when I attended that NGO workshop on ‘Good Governance and Youth Participation’ where they gave us bottled water and long empty speeches.

I stood up to go. The Punocrat stopped me. He said, “Egbere, if you want to be a real Punocrat, don’t go to Aso Rock. Come to the beer parlour. Aso Rock will give you press statement. Beer parlour will give you truth. And truth, even when bitter, is better.”

I am writing you this letter from the parlour. Lucy, through Danny, has tabled one bottle for me because I promised to describe her beer parlour as the best in Jalingo on Punocracy. That is not bribery or inducement; it is public-private partnership.

Please, if you are looking for me, do not check my house. Check the place where truth is cold, the pork bangs, and the generator is louder than campaign promises.

And next time you see a man laughing alone with a bottle, do not call him a drunkard. Call him Punocrat. He don see government finish.

P.S. —  UPDATE: Lucy just tell me say she don dey save money for 2027. She say politicians go soon enter her parlour dey do empowerment. Dem go share one bottle give twenty people and call am ‘Youth Inclusion in Brewing Industry’. She say she go collect their money, give dem Bitters, keep Betters for us.

I tell am make she contest self. She don manage generator, credit, and drunk customers since Obasanjo’s 2^nd term without rumour of coup. That one na experience pass many aspirants wey dey posters for Forest roundabout. 

Yours faithfully,

Egbere.

Chief Lamenter and Now, Assistant Brewer of Betters

Jekadafari – Jalingo.