A ballot floats through the air like a mechanical butterfly, delicate in descent, but once it touches ground, everything freezes. The jungle goes mute. The city forgets its language.

A ritual begins: one created not in oracle chambers but in air-conditioned think tanks with sliding doors and corporate logos. Democracy arrives as gospel, prepackaged and barcode-approved, dropped from drones or delivered via diplomatic pouch. It conquers like a parasite: nesting in the heart, feeding on belief, and killing the host with false promises. It persuades, it seduces, it infects. Men in suits descend like missionaries, their scriptures printed on glossy paper, their symbols cleaned for export. They bring PowerPoints and gender training modules instead of muskets. They come bearing good news: sovereignty is obsolete, local gods are outdated, and every village will be updated with Wi-Fi and murals of unveiled women raising fists beneath UN slogans.

The savannah no longer trembles under the boots of British redcoats. It shudders under the impact of slogans. “Civic engagement” is murmured like a spell. “Open society” is etched into blackboards where elders once traced cosmologies. The thunder of artillery has been replaced by keynote addresses. A revolution is rehearsed before it is broadcast. The new coup comes dressed for television. The old king disappears, replaced by a consensus candidate with a Yale degree and NATO approval. A constitution is unveiled like a........

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