TWADDLE

[Back in July 1998 Kalaki wrote this piece giving his considered opinion of the value of donors in general and UNICEF in particular]

Twaddle

Sam and I had managed to use our press cards to squeeze into another Donor Party. We needed it badly, because our salary cheques were late again.

We walked down the gravel drive, towards the bar which had been set up next to the swimming pool. This was the Official Residence of the Country Representative of the Children’s Fund, Mr Drivel McTwaddle.

The lawn was thick with suited gentlemen, washing down prawns with gulps of champagne. Perched on his podium, Drivel McTwaddle was in the middle of his twaddle ...

‘Before I came here to Zambia, I was told awful stories about poverty, squalor and starving children. But now I have seen it for myself,’ he said, looking round at the green rolling lawns and lush palm trees of his Kabulonga mansion, ‘I can see that situation is not as distressing as I had imagined.’

The distinguished guzzling parasites continued to guzzle and prattle, quite ignoring the continuing drivel and twaddle from Mr Drivel McTwaddle. The assembled Volvos and Mercedes glinted in the afternoon sun, as their uniformed chauffeurs stood to attention, awaiting the return of their distinguished employers from their important official guzzling.

‘Look,’ whispered Sam, pointing to hundreds of little heads peering over the distant wall, ‘the poor little orphans think that some of this is for them.’

‘I was sent here from Washington,’ drivelled McTwaddle, ‘to launch the International Convention on the Rights of the Child. So now I am handing over to the Minister, to explain the National Plan of Action which I have given him for his action.’

Up stood a battered ruffian, his huge belly protruding from an Italian suit. It was the dreaded Minister for Youth and Thugs, Mr Witless Hartebeest. ‘We have to be careful when we talk about the Rights of the Child,’ he began. ‘In Washington they talk about Rights, but here we talk about Discipline.’

‘Discipline means beating,’ murmured Sam.

‘In other words,’ continued the Ministerial Thug, ‘individual children have to be controlled, so that they don’t interfere with the rights of their parents and teachers. We have the right to control our children, and teachers must be given the same authority as parents.’

‘They walk around with sticks and whips,’ whispered Sam.

‘That is why we have introduced our National Plan for Children, which is based on a strategy of Discipline and Obedience. That is what we mean by education. Children need to learn at a young age to do as they are told without questioning authority.’

‘Essential when selling daughters,’ chuckled Sam.

‘The previous government made the mistake of giving children free education and health care. This was state interference, which undermined the traditional role and authority of parents. Our National Plan for Children is therefore based on restoring the authority of parents over their children. By restoring fees, we have restored the value of education and health care. Now these basic rights will be properly appreciated.’

‘The children are dying like flies,’ said Sam.

‘We are humbly grateful for your eloquent and illuminating explanation, Mr Minister,’ prattled McTwaddle, as he stood up to lead a round of applause. ‘And allow me take advantage of this august gathering to reveal that Zambia is the first country in the world to have a National Plan for Children. I can also reveal to you that Washington is very pleased.’ But the crowd ignored him. They were too busy gossiping to each other.

‘Look,’ said Sam, ‘some of the kids have got over the wall.’

‘It has always been the policy of the Children’s Fund to support government,’ gabbled McTwaddle. ‘In this case, the government has been doing so much that it has been difficult for us to see where to spend our Fund.

‘So we have been able to invest in a new fleet of Volvos in order to ease the transport problems of our expatriate experts, who have to decide your development priorities. And we have also bought new Landcruisers for our programme officers, who have to travel the country ensuring that all funds are dispersed according to the rules set in Washington.’

‘Misplaced expenditure,’ laughed Sam. ‘He should have spent more on razor wire for his wall, the kids are now coming over! We’d better move to higher ground!’

Despite the invasion, McTwaddle seemed not to see the danger. As the security guards brought out their whips, he waffled on regardless. ‘With parents now responsible for protecting their children from all diseases, it was difficult for us to identify a project. But then we received instructions from Washington to put all our money into a campaign to eliminate polio, which hasn’t been seen in this country for the past ten years. I am pleased to inform you that our campaign slogan is Bye Bye Polio!’

But McTwaddle was now twaddling to himself, for his distinguished guests were now fleeing to their limousines.

Sam and I stuffed our pockets with prawns and quickly made it to the gate. As soon as we reached safety we turned back to look. The first battalion of raggamuffin invaders had thrown McTwaddle into the pool. The second battalion were pushing his Volvo in after him. The third battalion was making short work of the strawberries and prawns. ‘Most extraordinary,’ I said, as we surveyed the scene of mayhem and destruction. ‘Such direct social action usually comes from university students!’

‘The trickle down effect is finally working!’ laughed Sam. ‘The children have finally got a share of the Children’s Fund!’

Above the sound of splintering windscreens, we heard the chorus of the joyful kids ... ‘Bye Bye Polio! ... Bye Bye Volvo! ... Bye Bye Twaddle!’