In a stunning turn of events that has shocked precisely no one, the government of Equatorial Guinea has officially collapsed after missing economic targets by a margin so vast it might as well have been trying to hit a bullseye with a blancmange. President Teodoro Obiang Nguema Mbasogo, a man who has been in power so long that he probably remembers when the sun was invented, announced the dissolution of his cabinet in a late-night broadcast that was heavy on bluster but light on plausible excuses.
"We were supposed to grow the economy by 5% this year," bellowed Obiang, a man whose grasp of economics is rivaled only by his grip on power. "Instead, we shrank by 12%. This is clearly the fault of the opposition, the IMF, and a mysterious plague of locusts that I definitely did not order."
The collapse comes after a decade of creative accounting that would make Enron blush. Sources close to the presidential palace report that the national budget was balanced by simply writing "Magic" in the deficit column. When asked how they planned to service their $17 billion debt, a finance ministry official replied, "With great difficulty and a lot of prayer."
But the real entertainment began when the president's son, Teodorin, a man whose sole qualification for running the country's oil ministry is that he shares a surname with the dictator, attempted to explain the economic shortfall. "You see, the global oil prices fell, but our spending didn't. It's a classic case of your-mama's-so-fat economics," he said, before being escorted from the room by men with earpieces and very serious expressions.
The international community has reacted with the customary mix of horror and amusement. The IMF has suspended all loans pending an audit. The UN has called for "free and fair elections," which in Equatorial Guinea translates to "everyone votes for Obiang or gets a free trip to a re-education camp."
Meanwhile, the citizens of Equatorial Guinea are celebrating. "This is the best news we've had since the last coup attempt in 2004," said a local fisherman, who asked not to be named for fear of being fed to the president's pet crocodiles. "Maybe now we can have a government that does something other than steal our oil money and build palaces."
In a last-ditch effort to salvage his regime, President Obiang has announced that he will be holding a national referendum on whether he should be allowed to remain in power for another 50 years. "I am confident the people will vote in my favor," he said, just before deploying the army to guard the ballot boxes.
As night falls over Malabo, the capital city, the only sound is the quiet rustling of palm fronds and the distant clinking of champagne glasses in the presidential palace. The dictator is reportedly toasting to his own resilience, unaware that the economy is already being run by a cabal of exiled ministers who have set up a shadow government in a pub in Hammersmith.
In conclusion, the collapse of Equatorial Guinea's government is a stark reminder that even in the 21st century, you can't build a country on a foundation of corruption, nepotism, and wishful thinking. Unless, of course, you have access to an infinite supply of oil. Which, as it happens, Equatorial Guinea does not. So, with a heavy heart and a lighter wallet, we bid adieu to another failed state. It’s been real, it’s been fun, but it hasn’t been real fun.
