Perfect Fraud

Perfect Fraud

           

‘I feel sorry for Stiffen Mususha,’ said Kupela. ‘One minute he’s an honorable minister and the next minute he’s a dishonorable scoundrel.’

          ‘Half a minute,’ I said, ‘he had a forged certificate saying he was qualified as an accountant, when in fact he was only qualified as an acrobat.’

          ‘That’s not true,’ said Kupela. ‘He had a certificate from NIPA saying that he had been awarded a DA. It was not his fault if his employers didn’t know that NIPA stood for National Institute for Performing Arts, and that his DA was a Diploma in Acrobatics rather than Accountancy.’

          ‘Huh,’ I scoffed. ‘He willfully deceived them.’

          ‘It was their fault if they didn’t check with NIPA. Maybe his employers knew very well what they were doing. Some of them deliberately recruit acrobats into their accountancy department to turn the books upside down, so that profit turns into loss. Such creative accounting is just like high wire acrobatics; everybody laughs and cheers as the acrobat walks off with their money. The copper mines all pay high salaries to acrobatic accountants.’

          ‘But he cheated.’

          ‘Really Daddy,’ laughed Kupela. ‘Accountants are employed to cheat the ZRA. How can you criticize him for having the most important basic qualification?’

          ‘Well, he was not fit to be an honorable minister!’

           ‘None of them are honorable!’ laughed Kupela. ‘The only difference between him and the other ministers was that he actually qualified to do the job he was given. As Minister of Acrobatics, he was the only minister with a relevant certificate. And his acrobatics was so good that he could walk on his hands just as well as on his feet, and so convincingly that nobody was quite sure which end was which, or which end he was talking out of. And when he joined a dancing queen on the dance floor he was so acrobatic that nobody could tell which was the dancing queen and which was the minister, especially when the two of them were thoroughly entwined in his famous Erotic Dance of Ecstatic Coition.’

          ‘I don’t care how you try to twist the argument,’ I growled, ‘we don’t want people who cheat and deceive to get into politics.’

          ‘Hah!’ Kupela hooted. ‘Now your argument has become ridiculous! There’s no other way of getting into politics. Don’t you know that the election victory of the Punching Fist was achieved by pure fraud?’

          ‘Really?’ I said. ‘You mean Michael Sata doesn’t have a Standard Four Certificate?’

          ‘I wouldn’t know about that,’ she laughed. ‘But I do know that the PF Manifesto was Perfect Fraud.’

          ‘On the contrary,’ I said, ‘the Punching Fist Manifesto was a very straightforward statement of what they intended to do when they got into office. And they’re making progress. Where’s the fraud?’

          ‘It’s all in the other one, the Perfect Fraud Manifesto!’

          ‘I’ve never seen that one!’ I laughed.

          ‘Nobody ever has! The Punching Fist Manifesto was seen but not heard. The Perfect Fraud Manifesto was heard but not seen. It was proclaimed from the anthill.’

          ‘And that made it fraud?’

          ‘It kept changing, from one anthill to the next. At least Mususha kept the same certificate and stuck by it. He didn’t keep changing it, or producing new ones wherever he went.’

          ‘But why do you call this anthill manifesto Perfect Fraud’

          ‘At each venue it changed according to what people wanted to hear. It didn’t depend on principles, but only longitude and latitude.’

          ‘That’s politics,’ I laughed. ‘Windfall tax - no windfall tax.  Barotse agreement – Barotse treason.  Chinese go – Chinese stay.  Money in your pocket – Money in my pocket.  90 days – 90 years. Politicians are allowed to change their policies, but they’re not allowed to change their certificates.’

          ‘Oh yes they are!’ cackled Kupela. ‘It’s common in government for the issuing authority to change a certificate. Nowadays you can apply to the ACC to get a certificate certifying that you’re immune from investigation for corruption. This is a very valuable certificate, and a great honor conferred by the highest authority, and it automatically and vastly increases your earning capacity - far more so than a mere Ph.D.’

          ‘You’re confusing two things,’ I said. ‘What you’re talking about is a license, not a certificate. A license can be granted or withdrawn at the discretion of the issuing authority, depending on your behaviour. For example, a radio station license can be withdrawn if the station makes the mistake of interviewing an opposition party leader. But a certificate cannot be withdrawn.’

          ‘Nonsense,’ snorted Kupela. ‘A certificate is just the same! In fact, after NIPA issued Mususha with his certificate, they were the very same ones who withdrew it!’

          ‘But that was because he used it for accountancy instead of acrobatics!’

          ‘But now he had become an honorable minister,’ retorted Kupels, ‘so they could have given him an honorary doctorate in accountancy if they had wanted to!’

          ‘How can an institute of acrobatics confer a doctorate in accountancy?’

          ‘The folly of institutes and universities,’ sneered Kupela, ‘knows no bounds. I remember one former president who had a certificate that was a complete fraud, but a university solved the problem by giving him an honorary doctorate in law.’

          ‘You’ve got the story wrong again,’ I laughed. ‘The certificate you’re talking about was not a fraud, it was a genuine certificate and properly gained. The only problem was that he had changed his name to fit the name on the certificate, which didn’t belong to him.’

          ‘So,’ said Kupela slowly, ‘it wasn’t the certificate that was a fraud, it was him!’

          ‘You’ve got it!’ I said.

          ‘So was he sent to prison?’ she asked.

          ‘No,’ I said. ‘He was given the honorary doctorate.’

          ‘I rest my case,’ she replied.

Michael the Magician

Michael the Magician

‘What do you want to be when you grow up?’ I asked Thoko. ‘Your mother is very keen that you shouldn’t end up like Grandpa.’

     ‘My dear mother,’ sighed Thoko, ‘is very ambitious on my behalf, so I’ve told her that I’m going to be president one day. So you’d better tell me how it’s done.’

     ‘There are various ways of doing it,’ I said, ‘But it’s generally reckoned that the most fantastic capture of the presidency was achieved by Michael the Magician, who founded the Perfectly Fantastic party, the PF.’

     ‘So how did he do it?’

     ‘He had the advantage of being a highly trained magician, able to completely deceive a large audience, with nobody suspecting that he was cheating.’

     ‘I’m already able to deceive Mummy.’

     ‘Well, that’s a good start. Although I’m told that by the age of three Michael could deceive an entire nursery school. By the time he ran for president he could deceive a crowd of thousands. For example, at a political rally he would call a member of the audience on stage to show everybody that his back pocket was empty. Then he would turn round three times, wave his magic wand, shout Abrakadabraka!  and then the same person would again inspect the same pocket and pull out a million kwacha, as Michael would shout More money in your pocket!’

     ‘But he had put more money in his own pocket,’ laughed Thoko.

     ‘Nobody seemed to notice that,’ I said. ‘Then he would take out a handful of little bits of torn paper from his pocket, and let them flutter down into an empty box, saying Imagine this is the Barotseland Agreement that was torn up by the Mad Munshumfwa! Then he would close the box and shake it, there would be a crack of fire and a puff of smoke, and Michael the Magician would pull a complete document from the box, saying This is how I shall restore the Barotseland Agreement!’

     ‘But how were people so easily deceived?’ Thoko wondered.

     ‘The first rule of the confidence trick,’ I explained, ‘is that you choose things that people really want to believe. His favourite was the two curtain trick. He would pull the curtains back to show a scene of unemployed youths outside a bar, as the crowd would shout We want jobs! Then he would close the curtains and mutter some strange spells and call on his ancestors. When he pulled back the curtains, there was the same gang of youths busy building a house, already up to the wall plate level. How the crowd would cheer! In another version of this trick a policeman with a gun would miraculously turn into a dove sitting on an olive branch. Even more popular was when he would cause a group of Chinese labourers to disappear entirely. The cheers would sometimes last for a full ten minutes, while Michael bowed to the crowd.’

     ‘So he was easily elected president?’ suggested Thoko.

     ‘Of course,’ I replied.

     ‘And did he do well as president?’ she asked doubtfully.

     ‘Of course not,’ I laughed. ‘After six months he had entirely failed to do any of the things he had promised.’

     ‘So did they give him more time?’

     ‘The problem wasn’t more time,’ I explained. ‘The problem was that he was doing the opposite of what he had promised. So they started shouting Where is the money in our pockets? But he would reply First I have to get the money into my pocket, then it can trickle down into your pockets!

     ‘They shouted Where is the Barotseland Agreement? But he replied Where is Barotseland?

     ‘They shouted You said you would chase the Chinese! But he replied I am chasing them from China and more will be arriving tomorrow!

     ‘Then they shouted Where are all the jobs that you promised? But he answered them by saying They have all been given to the Chinese!

     ‘Then the people began to get angry, chanting PF is Perfect Fraud! PF is Perfect Fraud!’

     ‘So did he have to resign?’ wondered Thoko.

     ‘Of course not,’ I laughed. ‘He accused them of treason and sent in the army. Then they chanted You promised no bullets! But he answered I promised no police bullets, but I never said anything about army bullets!’

     ‘But why didn’t he just keep his promises?’ asked Thoko.

     ‘You have a lot to understand about politics, my dear young Thoko.  To become president, of course you have to ask people what they want, and then promise to give them whatever they ask for. But once you have become president, then you have to show them who is in charge! Being president means that you decide for them, not them deciding for you! You have to walk all over them before they start walking all over you! That is what we mean by government in this country! People need to experience the firm smack of authority!’

     ‘But surely, Grandpa, to avoid annoying people too much, couldn’t Michael the Magician have kept just one of his promises?’

     ‘He did,’ I said. ‘He kept his promise to open ten new secondary schools.’

     ‘So at least everybody was pleased with that?’

     ‘No, they were even more annoyed. You see, he went to Botswana and opened ten new schools down there.’

     Tears welled into Thoko’s eyes. ‘When I become president,’ she said, ‘I shall keep all my promises.’

     ‘So you may imagine,’ I said. ‘But it’s never been done before.’ 

An Inspiring Tale of Youth Empowerment

An Inspiring Tale

of Youth Empowerment

‘I shall always remember one particular Youth Day when I was at Decay Secondary School,’ said Kupela. ‘The headmaster announced that the Ministry wanted a girl from our school to read a speech to the president. He called for a debate amongst all the girls, and said that we could choose the best speaker. I really thought I could win!’

‘But you didn't,’ said Sara.

‘I lost out to a girl called Wandimi Shibili. She got the loudest applause.’

‘Was she really a good speaker?’

‘She had a very crafty strategy,’ said Kupela. ‘The day before the debate she went around the school asking everybody what they thought our problems were. The next day she told everybody what they had told her, and loudly demanded action from the government.’

‘Yes,’ said Sara impatiently, ‘but what did she actually say?’

‘Difficult to remember after all these years,’ laughed Kupela. ‘But it was quite simple really. She said that we youths were fed up with being blamed for being undisciplined and playful, which was the opposite of the truth. It was the government that had destroyed the schools, which had no books, and the teachers were either absent or drunk, or both. There were no jobs for us because the government has destroyed the economy with incompetence and theft. They had destroyed our manufacturing industry by removing import duty. There was no employment policy, and instead jobs were being given to foreigners.’

‘I suppose that went down well,’ I said.

‘How we all cheered! You go and tell them! We shouted. Wandimi for president!’

‘And did you join the march?’

‘The whole school joined the march!’ laughed Kupela. ‘We all wanted to hear Wandimi tell the president what we thought of him and his rotten government!’

‘And was the president shocked? Did they try to stop her? What happened?’

‘What happened,’ said Kupela sadly, ‘was that she walked to the microphone and said the opposite of what she had said to us. She said that we youth were too playful, but now we promised to work hard and follow the fine example of our dear president. We were so grateful to him for building more schools, and for the youth training schemes, and we would work hard to benefit from his generosity. We would now stop asking the government for help, but only ask how we could help our government.’

‘So she said the exact opposite!’ I exclaimed.

‘She had changed her strategy,’ Sara suggested.

‘Of course she hadn’t changed her strategy! She had used exactly the same strategy, which was to tell her listeners what they wanted to hear. So the day before her speech she visited the permanent secretary at the Ministry of Youth and Sport, and asked him what the government wanted her to say. So he wrote down the main points on a piece of paper, and that was her speech.’

‘Half a minute,’ I said. ‘Most of her listeners were the youths, not the permanent secretary!’

‘She stopped caring about us,’ laughed Kupela, ‘as soon as we had done our job of voting her as our spokesperson.’

‘So what benefit did she get from her betrayal?’

‘She was given a bursary to go to Yunza. Nobody else in her class got into Yunza because their parents were too poor.’

‘Quite a smart cookie,’ I admitted. ‘And did she do well at Yunza?’

‘Extremely well,’ said Kupela. ‘She soon found a sugar daddy who installed her in a nice little flat in Kabulonga. So she had enough money to buy the exam papers in advance.’

‘She was cheating!’ exclaimed Sara.

‘The teaching in these places is so bad,’ Kupela explained, ‘that the only effective way to prepare for an exam is to get the paper in advance. So she got a good degree in medicine, specializing in geriatrics.’

‘So now at last she was in a position to do something for her country?’

‘Good gracious no,’ laughed Kupela, ‘she went off to California, and got a job there.’

‘I’m sure she’ll come back one day,’ said Sara, ‘and make an invaluable contribution to our health service.’

‘I don’t think so,’ laughed Kupela. ‘She hadn’t been in California six months before she married an 80 year-old multi-millionare who had made his money running brothels in Las Vegas.’

‘Why did he want to marry Wandimi? Was she very beautiful?’

‘No, face like the back of a bus. But she told him what he wanted to hear. She told him that she was a geriatric medical specialist, and that she could restore his health and vitality. She promised him that within 90 days he would be a young man again.’

‘And did it work?’

‘It did for her. Within 90 days he was dead, and she was a multi-millionaire.’

‘So what’s she doing now?’

‘Two years ago she bought herself a senate seat, and this year she’s contesting the Republican primaries and hoping to run against Obama in the coming presidential election.’

‘Still the same campaign strategy?’ wondered Sara.

‘Oh yes. The previous night she asks them what they want, and the next morning she tells them that she’s knows their problems, and she’ll solve everything.’

‘So by next year,’ I said, ‘she may be the first female Zambian president!’

‘But never in Zambia,’ sighed Sara.

The Cobra Spits

The Cobra Spits

‘Grandpa,’ said Nawiti, ‘can you tell me one of your Mfuwe stories?’

‘All my grandchildren seem to like my Mfuwe stories,’ I laughed. ‘And so, for you tonight, I shall tell you a completely new story, called The Cobra Spits.’

‘How does the story begin?’ asked Nawiti.

‘It begins,’ I said, ‘with all the animals of Mfuwe being very unhappy, because the Old Dinosaur, King Nyamasoya, had given permission to the Eager Beavers from China to come into the beautiful land of Mfuwe. These Eager Beavers were cutting down the all the mukwa trees and floating them down the Luangwa River for export to China.’

‘So the animals were getting rich, selling all those trees.’

‘No, the Eager Beavers were stealing the trees. And the monkeys were paid only a few peanuts to strip the branches, and the elephants were paid only a few bananas to drag the trunks all the way to the river. Every year the animals were more hungry and the forest was disappearing.’

‘But why didn’t the animals go to the Palace and complain to the king?’

‘King Nyamasoya listened to nobody, and if anybody complained he would set his hyenas on them. He was only afraid of the Spitting Cobra, who could frighten the hyenas. Several times the Cobra had climbed up the thick scales of the aged Dinosaur and spat in his face.

‘Now there was so much dissatisfaction with the old Dinosaur that the Spitting Cobra saw his chance. He went to the elephants and said Make me King and I’ll get rid of Old Nyamasoya and all his Eager Beavers.

‘But the Wise Old Elephant said What else are you doing to do for us? You must give the forest to us Elephants so that all the fruit is ours! So Spitting Cobra agreed. Then he went to the Monkeys and asked them what they wanted. We want all of the forest, so we can eat all the fruit! they demanded. And again the Cobra agreed.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Nawiti, ‘how could he promise the forest to both the Elephants and the Monkeys?’

‘He was a politician,’ I explained, ‘and he wanted their support. He promised the Zebra that he would banish the Lions, but he promised the Lions that he would put a fence round the Zebra so that they would be easy to catch. He promised the Rhinoceroses that all of his ministers would be appointed from amongst their number, and then went off to the Hippopotamuses and promised exactly the same thing.’

‘And so he became King?’

‘Of course,’ I laughed. ‘All the animals surrounded the Palace and shouted Shushushu! and Nyamasoya's hyenas ran away. Then the Cobra went in and climbed up the shivering Dinosaur and spat in his eyes, blinding him completely. The Dinosaur ran away to Jurassic Park and was never seen again. And so the Cobra became King, and all the animals celebrated.’

‘And did he kick out the Eager Beavers?’

‘No. He held a great feast in their honour, and said that more Eager Beavers should come and they could chop down as many trees as they like!’

‘He did the opposite!’ squealed Nawiti. ‘Why was that?’

‘He needed the money from the export of mukwa!’

‘Of course!’ laughed Nawiti. ‘I never thought of that! They don’t teach us economics in Grade 1! But did he keep the rest of his promises?’

‘None of them,’ I laughed. ‘Because he had promised opposite things to different animals.’

‘Of course!’ laughed Nawiti, clapping her hands. ‘It all cancelled down to nothing! They don’t teach us logic in Grade 1! So now he was in a fix! What did the snake do to wriggle out of that?’

‘He said he couldn’t organize the country properly because all the animals wanted different things. He therefore announced a series of measures to change the animals so that they didn’t have opposing interests.’

‘What were his directives?’

‘He ordered the Fish to learn to fly, and the Fish Eagles to learn to swim, and new schools to be built for this purpose. Similarly the Lions should learn to eat grass and not be tempted to bite Zebra, while the Zebra would all be kept captive in the Palace garden so that they wouldn’t put lions into temptation.’

‘Did it work?’

‘Of course not. At first the animals protested, but every day came more pronouncements on his marvelous new system. One day a Lion was made Minister for Moving Zebra, and even before the animals had finished laughing there was another announcement that the river was being moved nearer the Palace for administrative convenience.’

‘Did nobody go to talk to him?’

‘Nobody can argue with a Spitting Cobra. It just spits in your face.’

‘So did the King manage to move the river?’

‘Of course not. Every day the King stood in his Palace and gave more strange directives. And every day the animals ignored him, and went about their normal business.’

‘So things remained the same as under King Nyamasoya?’

‘Of course.’

‘So how did it all end?’

‘It all ended when the forest had all been chopped down, the Eager Beavers had all swum back to China, and all the animals of Mfuwe were starving.’

‘So what did King Cobra do then?’

‘He ordered that all the animals of Mfuwe should move to Tongaland, and that all the animals of Tongaland should move to Chibombo.’

‘And did it work?’

‘Of course not,’ I laughed.

‘Why not?’ asked Nawiti.

‘Because he hadn’t bothered to consult the animals of Tongaland.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Nawiti sadly. ‘Even in Grade 1, we learn to consult.’