Hey Y'all,
Apologies for the delay, a nice combination of our busiest work to date coupled with a little sickness. Whatever. It rained for the first time in three months the other day. Mind-blowing. In other news, this post is completely devoted to a man who assisted me with work the other day, giving me one of my strangest African work stories.
I went to the Anti Corruption Bureau of Malawi today hoping to gather rather pesky information on the operating budget of a particular government body that I knew must be public information. After a particularly grueling scavenger hunt looking for the information, I happened on the ACB and asked if I could speak to someone. I was immediately guided up through the maze of a building (without windows, just white walls and doors with stickers saying "This is an corruption-free zone," felt like something oddly out of 1984) to meet with an appropriate person. They had me wait in the hall when they couldn't find the right person and that is when I met my contact. He noticed me at the far end of a long, thin, insane-asylum corridor, and came bustling down it. Maybe 5'2, a suit jacket that fell to his knees and glasses like coke cans, he nearly bowled me over trying to shake my hand. He has a slight speech impediment, so to this day I am still not sure if his name is Villary or Hillary. Or maybe something in between like Vihilarny.
He hustled me into an office, with an introduction as Deputy of Investigations, an over-the-top welcome and a health ration of vigorous head nods and promises of aid. I told him the information I was looking for, and he sat back thought for a moment, literally disappearing below his desk in ponderance (New Word). Then he told me we should go, asked if I had a car and we were off.
This was the beginning of a day-long dream. We were simply in search of this budget, but Villary took it upon himself to barge unexpected into any government office we passed, with me as his entourage and demand various information, accuse corruption and watch for the response. First, he found a secretary at the Ministry of Finance, roused her from her seat and pillaged her desk for "articles of suspicion"(again for image sake, keep in mind this man is the size of a 13-year old, dressed like a hobo clown at an old-timey circus and has an unintentionally hilarious speech impediment that turns "Where" into "Vere"). He found nothing, but asked her if she had seen anything, and when she said no, took out a notebook and recorded in capital letters her name and the word "Reinvestigate."
His best impromptu attack though was on an office where I was actually receiving some of the help I needed, and Villary, impatiently twitching around in the corner, took the opportunity to open more drawers. He found a 20 Kwacha note, which is the equivalent of less than ten cents, underneath a calculator and almost lost it. He asked the poor man working there where he got the money, did he have a receipt to justify the calculator, if he had ever committed acts of corruption and so forth. Finally, he took all of my business cards I had with me, promising to give them to the "right people." And handed out all of them to anyone he found "justifiable," secretaries that let him peruse their logs, guards who opened the door for him etc. He kept the last one and said "I will not forget this day of exorcising corruption."
Terribly Nice Guy,
More to come soon,
I Promise,
At the Approval of the Wizengamot,
Steven
Apologies for the delay, a nice combination of our busiest work to date coupled with a little sickness. Whatever. It rained for the first time in three months the other day. Mind-blowing. In other news, this post is completely devoted to a man who assisted me with work the other day, giving me one of my strangest African work stories.
I went to the Anti Corruption Bureau of Malawi today hoping to gather rather pesky information on the operating budget of a particular government body that I knew must be public information. After a particularly grueling scavenger hunt looking for the information, I happened on the ACB and asked if I could speak to someone. I was immediately guided up through the maze of a building (without windows, just white walls and doors with stickers saying "This is an corruption-free zone," felt like something oddly out of 1984) to meet with an appropriate person. They had me wait in the hall when they couldn't find the right person and that is when I met my contact. He noticed me at the far end of a long, thin, insane-asylum corridor, and came bustling down it. Maybe 5'2, a suit jacket that fell to his knees and glasses like coke cans, he nearly bowled me over trying to shake my hand. He has a slight speech impediment, so to this day I am still not sure if his name is Villary or Hillary. Or maybe something in between like Vihilarny.
He hustled me into an office, with an introduction as Deputy of Investigations, an over-the-top welcome and a health ration of vigorous head nods and promises of aid. I told him the information I was looking for, and he sat back thought for a moment, literally disappearing below his desk in ponderance (New Word). Then he told me we should go, asked if I had a car and we were off.
This was the beginning of a day-long dream. We were simply in search of this budget, but Villary took it upon himself to barge unexpected into any government office we passed, with me as his entourage and demand various information, accuse corruption and watch for the response. First, he found a secretary at the Ministry of Finance, roused her from her seat and pillaged her desk for "articles of suspicion"(again for image sake, keep in mind this man is the size of a 13-year old, dressed like a hobo clown at an old-timey circus and has an unintentionally hilarious speech impediment that turns "Where" into "Vere"). He found nothing, but asked her if she had seen anything, and when she said no, took out a notebook and recorded in capital letters her name and the word "Reinvestigate."
His best impromptu attack though was on an office where I was actually receiving some of the help I needed, and Villary, impatiently twitching around in the corner, took the opportunity to open more drawers. He found a 20 Kwacha note, which is the equivalent of less than ten cents, underneath a calculator and almost lost it. He asked the poor man working there where he got the money, did he have a receipt to justify the calculator, if he had ever committed acts of corruption and so forth. Finally, he took all of my business cards I had with me, promising to give them to the "right people." And handed out all of them to anyone he found "justifiable," secretaries that let him peruse their logs, guards who opened the door for him etc. He kept the last one and said "I will not forget this day of exorcising corruption."
Terribly Nice Guy,
More to come soon,
I Promise,
At the Approval of the Wizengamot,
Steven
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