This afternoon in Malawi—while most Malawians are stepping out of church after a hearty Sunday sermon, settling into lunch, or arguing with ESCOM—West Africa has delivered a political drama so wild it could outshine any Nollywood blockbuster. The Republic of Benin, that compact but spirited nation nestled between Nigeria, Togo, Burkina Faso, and Niger, woke up to a coup attempt so clumsy and short-lived that it deserves its own comedy special.
And because you’re reading this through the sharp eyes of Shire Times, allow us to offer our regular civic public service announcement: dear Malawians, if the revolutionary spirit ever whispers into your ear—whether Holy Spirit or otherwise—urging you to conduct a coup, please ensure it succeeds. Failed coups don’t bring forgiveness and reconciliation; they bring trials, interrogations, and sometimes burial arrangements. Treason is not an activity where you can simply say, “Sorry, I was joking.”
Benin’s spectacle began early Sunday morning when a tiny but overconfident group of soldiers stormed the national broadcaster. As amateur revolutionaries always do, they seized the TV station and declared that the government had been dissolved. For a shiny, tiny moment—shorter than the church announcements at many Malawian congregations—they believed they had taken the nation.
But by midday, reality landed harder than a minibus conductor demanding exact change. Benin’s Foreign Minister, Olushegun Adjadi Bakari, appeared before the cameras with the serenity of a man ordering chambo for lunch. “There is an attempt,” he said, “but the situation is under control.” In Malawian translation: “Calm down. These boys acted without thinking.”
Bakari revealed that the coup was the work of a very small, very confused group of soldiers. The rest of the army remained loyal to leader Pascal Tigris. Loyalist troops swiftly reclaimed command posts, and the coup collapsed with the speed of a fake battery torch in the rains. Truly, you know a coup has failed when members stepping out of church are already hearing that the government has taken back everything even before they reach home.
With the government fully back in command, the rebellious soldiers are now staring at some extremely dark clouds. A coup is not a group project where the worst that can happen is your groupmate failing to show up. In this line of business, when things fall apart, lives fall with them.
And so, Malawians, today’s international lesson is clear: a coup must either succeed boldly or never be attempted at all. There are no consolation prizes. No participation trophies. No “thank you for trying.” A failed coup is basically sending yourself on an express journey to face the harshest consequences your country can offer.
Now, here is the final twist, one that seasoned political observers always pay attention to: if Benin’s government and its Foreign Ministry are loudly projecting calm, insisting that everything is fine and under control, there are two possible meanings. If they are engaging in propaganda to contain public panic, then the plotters may have actually succeeded far more than they’re letting on—and the real showdown is unfolding behind closed doors. But if the government is genuinely unbothered and giving honest updates, then those plotters are in more trouble than they can possibly imagine.
Either way, today’s episode from Benin stands as proof that if you’re going to overthrow a government, do it properly—or don’t do it at all.
