Tuesday, April 3, 2012

The Truth about Michael

The Truth about Michael

‘So from your point of view,’ I said, ‘All this talk about Michael’s health was just the idle chatter of the unemployed?’
     ‘Politics,’ explained Christine, ‘is for politicians. We have a parliament for idle chatter, where politicians chatter on behalf of everybody else, so that the remainder of the country can get on with their work and shut up.’
     ‘Or at least not talk about Michael!’
     ‘But tell me, why did Michael go to India? Was it for medical treatment?’
     ‘Of course not. He went there to look for investors, to give work to the unemployed, in order to stop them chattering, so that he can have some peace.’
     ‘Even so,’ I said. ‘If he was looking for investors, why did he spend so much time at Gujarat Central Hospital?’
     ‘Look, Kalaki, what do you know about finding investors?  If you were looking for investors, where would you go?’
     ‘An investment bank in New Delhi?’
     ‘There you are!’ she laughed, as she poured me another cup of tea. ‘See how little you know! Investors don’t sit in offices! Nowadays they are so rich and decadent that they spend most of their time in hospital, recovering from the diseases of affluence such as obesity, high blood pressure, or the more exotic forms of sexually transmitted diseases. They are using their vast wealth to linger on, far beyond their allotted lifespan, because they know that when they die they will surely to go to Hell.’
     ‘But why Gujarat Central Hospital?’
     ‘Because it specializes in the diseases of dying and stinking capitalism. It is reckoned that Gujarat Central Hospital has the world’s highest concentration of capitalists per square metre.’
     ‘But Dotty Scotty told parliament that Michael had gone to India on a private visit, for a holiday.’
     ‘Of course there was that too,’ agreed Christine. ‘Perhaps you don’t realize, Kalaki, that a hospital is a grand place for a holiday. The air is clean and free of germs, and you can jog up and down the corridors which run for miles. And Gujuarat Central Hospital has a swimming pool, gymnasium, massage parlour, several restaurants and cinemas, and so on.’
     ‘So Michael had plenty of time to relax?’
     ‘Well, you know Michael, he can’t relax. He soon found that there were many heads of state living in Gujarat Central. Before long he was fixing up international trade deals, to import water from Bangladesh, export slave labour to the Siberian salt mines, and so on.’
     ‘Good gracious!’ I exclaimed. ‘What were these heads of state doing there?’
     ‘Many of them were recovering from bullet wounds, or taking refuge from the International Criminal Court, or merely taking a holiday from the suffocating love of their grateful citizens. Others were having secret treatment because they didn’t want to admit that they were sick.’
     ‘Good gracious,’ I said, ‘I hadn’t thought of that. So with all these eminent people to meet, Michael must have had a marvelous time.’
     ‘Ever busy, my Michael,’ replied Christine, proudly. ‘When he saw how many Zambian doctors were working at the Gujarat Central, he gathered them all into the medical lecture theatre and gave them a little pep talk, telling them what they could expect if they ever came back home to Zambia.’
     ‘What did he tell them?’
     ‘He told that he had been forced to travel all the way to Gujarat to seek medical attention because they had run away from their own country. They had deserted sick Zambians at home in order to attend to the health of foreigners, which was treachery, and that if they ever came home they would be charged with treason.’
     ‘Ah yes,’ I said. ‘Our friend Michael is such an honest person. Whatever comes into his head, he will say it, just like that!’
     ‘And he has such a marvelous imagination,’ she said proudly. ‘He has been thinking about the problem of bringing back these doctors to Zambia, and he’s going to make an announcement this afternoon. He’s decided to reshuffle Gujarat Province to Zambia, in exchange for Western Province, which will go to India. This will solve our doctor shortage and the Barotse problem at a stroke.’
     ‘Brilliant,’ I agreed. ‘The Zambian doctors can come home, and the Barotse can break away, so everybody will be happy!’
     ‘Yes,’ said Christine. ‘Michael’s such an agreeable fellow, very easy to get along with.’
     Just then Michael put his head round the door. ‘I’m off to reshuffle a few provinces, see you later!’ Then he noticed me. ‘Hullo Kalaki,’ he said. ‘I thought you were dead.’
     ‘How did the operation go?’ I asked.
     ‘Complete success,’ he replied, as he disappeared from sight.
     ‘The operation to find new investors,’ Christine explained, ‘was a great success.’
     ‘I must be off,’ I said, as I stood up and put my notebook in my pocket. We shook hands, and I gave her a little kiss on each cheek. ‘What’s it like, being the First Lady?’
     ‘It’s just a title,’ she laughed, ‘there’s no job!’
     ‘Never mind,’ I said, ‘I've enjoyed having a bit of idle chatter with one of the unemployed.’  


  1. hahahahaaaa, this is a great one- as usual, thanx Kalaki.

  2. dont know how i missed this...great staff.

  3. thanks for this satire mr.kalaki

  4. Kalaki hi;
    will you please write a sattire as to why you have stopped writing for the post.
    i love your works