Parastatal Bureaucracy

By Will Swansen

Some people in powerful positions will wake up to an apocalyptic epiphany and relentlessly pursue the outcome no matter who and what stand in their way. They will walk away after the fact and never look back on the havoc they have created. Duggy learned soon that when people are managed in fear, management would be clouded with lies.
Duggy endured a rough childhood, but it equipped him with a sense of survival. He despises unfair conduct. When Duggy learned that he was set up for failure, he resorted to experiences as far back as his childhood to the detriment of those who appointed him and did not reckon with Duggys survival instinct. His athletic ability and general knowledge paid off when he faced certain death.
When Duggy was sent on a venture to negotiation between the World Bank and the Nigerian Government in building a power line in Nigeria, things turned sour when Debby, the advisor to Prince Victor from Nigeria, attempted to smooth things over with a short dress and silky legs.
After a bad turn of events, Duggy became a stowaway on a cargo ship where he discovered merchandise, which landed him in deeper trouble than he ever anticipated.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Nov 16, 2012
• ISBN: 9781466965997

Will Swansen

Will Swansen developed the art in listening to people in what and how they speak and then noticing the reaction of their audience. As a former employee of a parastatal company for many years, Will gained experience from people from all walks of life, which became a useful attribute in his writing style.

Book preview

Prologue

N o one would have thought that Duggy’s life experiences would have paved his future so perfectly to match his destiny.

Captivated by events from our youth, events and experiences are like strokes of paint eventually reflecting what we perceive as the truth. On the importance of acceptance and becoming an instrument in the realization of someone’s epiphany, the mainstream of events to obey without asking questions becomes our own lid over success, yet again reflections of the truth as you know it, by rage and circumstance becomes completely distorted.

Brought up by parents recognized by many as the salt of the earth, I could stand proud of whom I was and knew I could become. Achievements were never nested in our pride. The trust bestowed to me not to follow and fall for things that would cause embarrassment to my parents has given me the willingness to achieve more and better than my brothers and sister.

My parents were not educated at all. My father quit school after eighth grade and my mother in fourth grade. Yet, the wisdom surpassed the lack of education by far. My father was a mentor in so many facets of life which no well-educated man could ever bring home. My mother was a role model for the entire family and deserved good opinion. With so little, she could do so much. She was money wise and had always something to give and where it came from, only God knows.

Within this framework of not being born with a silver spoon and the stigma of having a drug pusher as a brother and an alcoholic father, which seems contradictory to the fact, I had to fend for myself at a very young age.

My parents believed that, the larger the company you work for the better the pension and they worked towards a pension as if that was the only goal and the reason for being there in the first place. The harder peers are beaten, the more unlikely the truth that follows thus; those at the top were clouded with lies. Unfair conduct of those in power never seems to end.

I was all on my own. Something must give—at some time, at some point—take them out of the equation—one by one.

Chapter One

S taring into the distance at the mountain so far away.

If I could only get there—? I am going to ask Peter— I thought out loud.

I will not have Mum’s approval unless Peter comes with and to get him away from his busy ‘hunting girls’ schedule was another story. A reminiscence of his aggravation stalled my thought. A punch to the head would be his only answer. A five-year age difference plays a big part. Respect no fear yes.

In the distance, I could hear other children making their way to school. Next year it will be my turn. Moisture from my breath collected on the windowpane. I started to draw a picture with my finger. The moisture, now frozen, slid under my fingernail and drew peculiar shapes as it fragmented into smaller pieces.

Duggy! A call from Mum surrounded me. One jerk and my picture were spoilt.

Yes Mum—I’m coming. I said while sliding down my bed.

Get Rusty out of the house!

This is my chance of leaving the house. Yes! Yes! This was a no-go until at least nine o’clock. Frost settled on the grass. My feet were frozen, yet I was outside, and that was all that mattered. Having shoes was for those from a different class.

I made my way to the woodshed in the hope of finding blocks of different shapes and sizes. It will be only a matter of time when I will be notified by a shrieking voice that I have overstayed my welcome outside. To some surprise it never came.

Being somewhat sheltered in the shed brought some relief to my lack of planning for not wearing something warmer. Going back now would mean staying indoors. My plea to return to the shed will fall on deaf ears.

Off cuts from the wood factory where Dad worked rendered the ideal opportunity for my imagination to go on a roller coaster ride. That afternoon would be no exception to more surprises when he comes home with the car loaded with new ideas. I filled a five-gallon drum as I scavenged the pile piece by piece in search all the missing pieces, this time for some of the round ones made by a hole-saw. I had three and another would make a complete chassis of a car. Two will only result in a trailer or buggy. Fingers dead and numb from the cold, I found the last just in time before having my eardrums pierced by a shrieking voice.

In order to cover my guilt trip, I returned to the house with the five-gallon drum filled to the brim.

Thanks. That was very thoughtful of you. Stoke the fire some more.

The presence of the heat sent pins and needles through my fingertips as I stoked the fire. The art of it all was to keep the fire burning all the time, winter and summer. The fire keeps the water warm. Dad needs a warm bath. A warm bath does his raging temper some good.

Mum was busy at the table with a slice of homemade bread. In a meticulous fashion, she covered the slice with butter from corner to corner followed by peanut butter in the same way. A cup of coffee stood nearby. Eye contact was enough to signal triumph over the hard butter and completion of her artful vendetta in spreading the butter on each slice without spoiling the soft inner or spill a crumb. Mum might not be able to read a recipe from a book, but her bread was the best in the neighborhood.

The vinyl chair was cold and the backrest warm from the radiant heat of the stove. With a far smell of the firewood smoke still on my hands, I sat down and ate the one-inch thick slice of bread, equivalent to six slices of modern baked bread. I built memories at each bite.

A scratch on the back door announced the presence of Rusty outside in the ever-pressing cold. He should be indoors. A sound of a desperate paw almost in wishful thinking begging mum’s heart to soften and allow him a silent spot next to the stove was left unanswered for the temptation of welcoming my friend into the house was halted and Rusty’s paw stopped inches from the door.

Do not let him in! Mum said.

Mum’s screechy voice carried far enough for Rusty to hear and cease his plea. I stared at the patterns the blue vinyl made and reminded me of the ice on the window. In a distance, I could hear the washing machine start. The bustle in the bedrooms continued as the washing was collected.

How the hell did you do this? Mum shouted next to me, poking the messy short pants into my face.

She was small in figure but her swift movements made her visible everywhere. She had eyes in the back of her head like no one else I had known. Mum knows in a bizarre way what I do and will do before I do it and even while I’m at it. How did she come to know of this? I know that a worried word will not help nor will a pitiful face. All I can do is wait it out and absorb what was coming. To keep my mouth shut was the best option.

Get out of my sight before I— She held and returned to the washing machine.

Tonight there is a good chance that I will get it from Dad. I will have to wait and see. I took the invite of dismissal seriously and sneaked out the house to be greeted by Rusty wagging his tail. To pose the question if I could return to the spot where I messed up my pants was close to suicide. I knew that I would not be summoned within the next two hours or so.

The neighbor’s car kicked into life. I walked around to the shed. His daughter was with him. She was very beautiful. All the boys in the neighborhood would have loved to be seen with her. She waved at me and I waved back with an open dry mouth. If my mouth had stayed open for another two seconds, my tongue would have frozen to my palate. There was something funny about a girl like that. She had the ability to change Peter’s voice and even in the way he stood and talked to her. At the end of the driveway, she got out and opened the gate.

Duggy. She called.

Being caught in a dreamlike state, she had to repeat herself. I rushed over.

Would you please close the gate for me? She asked.

I nodded as that’s all I could do. Her dark brown hair swung from side to side as she slid back into the car. Such graceful movements I’d never seen before. I opened our gate, went outside the yard, and caught myself staring at the most beautiful girl in the world. At some places, the car windows were fogged up from the inside. She opened the passenger’s window and looked at me.

She is going to speak. My brain worked overtime.

There are some new comic books that you can go get. Just ask my Mum OK? Bye— She left in the grace of an eagle soaring above the clouds where I also found myself to be. I hated myself for being so dumb struck. I walked down their driveway, followed by Rusty and knew that only the back door of their house may be used. From the tips of the grape stalks, droplets of water from molten frost dripped small patterns on the floor. The front door was only used by the preacher when he came to visit once a month. He would pass our house because he knew there was no money to give.

The back door was open. Before I could make my presence known, Aunt Heather called me in.

Are you here for some more comic books? She asked. I loved comic books and read for hours and hours.

How does she know that? Was I a topic of discussion? Am I that important?

Aunt Heather was the best of the best. I always felt at ease with her. I could talk to her and say anything to her. There was always a bite to eat and as usual, she offered.

You’d like something to eat? She asked.

No thanks. I just had some bread Mum baked last night.

Was it good?

O yes! I said.

Go to Alice’s room and you will find the books in a plastic bag by her bed. Aunt Heather said.

I took off at speed straight to Alice’s room and stopped in front of the half open door. The smell of her perfume lingered on and revealed so much of her beauty. Slowly I pushed the door open and saw the bed where she spent night after night alone. White as snow yet it projected her warmth. On the floor, the plastic bag with comic books winked at me. Only two steps into her room. The wooden polished floor reflected my shape. My breath quickened. The bag now one-step away! The last step took forever. I grabbed the bag and felt guilty and self-conscious at the same time.

Have I spent too much time in her room? It can create the wrong impression.

A brisk walk back to the kitchen where Aunt Heather was making tea took less than a second.

Have a cup of tea. She said.

Thanks. It was not necessary. I said. Politeness and good mannerism was the correct conduct at Aunt Heathers. That always kept the door open for me and I had planned keeping it that way.

Duggy! A faint call from someone at the gate demanded my presence outside. I did not recognize the voice.

Giving preference over the bag of comic books with a cup of tea and the willingness to go and play was a hard choice to make. As always, Aunt Heather understood so well.

Go and play with your friends. She said so understanding.

I could not just leave a good cup of tea. At home, a cup of coffee was a luxury not readily available to kids. To be well mannered would be to drink some of the tea but that would also imply an insult. Leaving it would give my friends preference over my visit. Next time there might not be such a welcome. With the comic books in one hand and the cup of tea in the other—I just had to have them both. Another call came from the gate.

I appeared very reluctant when I left the house.

Around the corner some bigger kids, not my age, were at the gate. Yet it was a school day.

Why are they not at school? I thought out loud.

My stomach turned. My mouth dried up and my palms started sweating! The gang of the neighborhood! In my enthusiasm, I had walked too fast and in full sight of the gang. They did not expect me to be next door but still saw me.

Hey you—! Come here! Otto, the blond said draped over the handlebars of his chopper.

What have you in that bag? He asked again.

Shell-shocked I stood there but knew that they will not dare enter Aunt Heather’s property. She did not take any nonsense from strangers or their parents for that matter.

Duggy! A squeaky voice like a lightning bolt came from my house. Now I was caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. My exit from the property would normally be swift when Mum calls. Failing to do so will aggravate the dirty pants situation with Dad and he would give me hell. I would be confronted by the gang when leaving the gate. They would take the bag of comic books, scatter them on the pavement, and help themselves to some and I would not be in the position to return them as they were. That would close the door on this one for sure.

I opted to climb the fence. I reached over as far I could and dropped the plastic bag full of comic books the last two feet or so. I scaled the fence. Suddenly the fence started to whip from side to side. The bullies saw this and shook the fence violently. I lost my grip and balance and hoped to fall over to the right side of the fence. Someone up there loved me. I was tossed to the ground and fell flat on my stomach. Still winded I grabbed the bag and ran around the shed towards the house.

I heard laughter in the distance and then a loud crack followed. The laughter ceased suddenly. I opened the back door and controlled my breathing so as not to create any suspicion of any misconduct. Ears red from the cold and breath kept shallow but still panting I made my way to my bedroom. My heart was pounding in my chest.

Where were you? Mum asked.

Next door at Aunt Heather’s. Alice had some more books for me. I said with a voice as calm as I possibly could.

Mum looked at me with suspicion written all over her face. I do not know why I had a guilty feeling about me.

I did not see you use the gate. You know what your father will do when he sees the sagged fence again. She said as she turned around attending to the washing machine, which had stopped at the end of its washing cycle.

You must go and buy bread and milk before your father gets home. The baked bread will not be enough for Dad’s lunch tomorrow.

No! I uttered softly.

Those kids are not at school. Going to the shop was strictly planned for the mornings when they were at school and kept out of mischief.

The gang consisted of four brothers. The youngest being my age and the oldest at least Peter’s age or even older. They stayed three blocks from my house and the only reason they would ever come to my place was to pick a fight. Telling Peter about that would only make things worse. Peter would force me into a fight and stand and watch as I got beaten to a pulp. You do not cry for one bit. We do not cry!

Here is the money. Milk, bread and two onions and no, you may not keep the change! She said and covered my next question. Even a single penny was not just given away but saved for a lesser rainy day, not that I had seen any.

In refusing to go or even trying to explain my dilemma would land on deaf ears. Getting home with anything but what was ordered will also result in more than just a talk to. My behind will taste leather and that was no maybe.

I left the house from the back door. The winter cold burned my face. I trembled with anticipation and fear. The five-block gauntlet would be very long. It was all clear after a sneak peek down the road. My house was two houses from the corner where I then had to make a left. A veld opposite the last house offered some shelter only in the case where they were seen first. Being on choppers made them even more unpredictable.

The distance to the corner was covered in very short time and I found myself very vulnerable. I was in the open and had no trees or any shelter. The corner house belonged to the rich class and was fenced all-round. So far so good! I decided to run the next few blocks to the shop. The shop slowly but surely came closer without any incident. I ran up the stairs into the shop. My relief was short lived. At the chips counter they stood. No escape from this. The only help now was Nick the Greek. He did not allow any fighting in the shop.

I approached Nick’s wife behind the counter and placed my order. I hoped it could be done in a jiffy. They were still waiting for their hot chips and might give me the lead I needed in my escape. Luck was not on my side.

Salt and vinegar—? Nick asked.

Someone from the gang added something but it was unimportant to me. My order was placed in front of me and so was the change. The coins made a racket on the counter as some spun around. In my attempt to grab it all at once, one coin left the counter in a harmonious fashion fell to the floor, rolled across the floor where it came to a halt against one of the gangster’s shoes. The distance I had to cover was about hundred-kilometer. One look at his cold eyes made me realize that I would be going home shortchanged and the implications of that I realized. The silence cut like a knife.

I left the shop, ran down the stairs, and expected the gang to follow. Five blocks became four and then three. With my hands clutched to the bag and the weight, swaying from side to side almost caught me off balance but I recovered from a near fall. The corner was in sight! A peek over my shoulder declared the absence of my followers.

Stars, ringing eardrums and the taste of copper in my mouth! I fell to the ground with a thud. With my ears still ringing and winded I laid still. Something black flew past my face and came crashing down on my rib cage.

Do not cry—we do not cry! Peter’s voice echoed in my head You must not cry—!

The foil lid of the milk bottle became unstuck and synchronously with my rushing heart’s beat, spilled droplets of milk to the floor. Laughter followed when they left and I could hear squeaky bicycle chains in the distance. I picked myself up and looked for the bread and milk. I gathered it all and placed it back in the soiled bag. The next thirty yards to my house, I used to gather myself and keep my pose.

I opened the gate and brushed shoulders with the hedge. I was sore but still did not quite know where. Rusty met me half way with his wagging tail with reason to believe he could help. The stairs at the back door that led up to the house became a resting place and gave me time to lick my wounds. I held onto Rusty. I sought comfort. I still have Mum to face.

With all nerves gathered, I entered the house. Mum was still busy with the washing. I took the chance; placed the milk in the fridge and the bread in the bread tin. The onions I left on the breadboard, as it was evident from the rest of the cutlery lying around, that food was being prepared.

Change—? With an outstretched hand Mum asked. I dug into my pocket and found nothing. The right hand pocket was empty. I try the left pocket and found one of the four coins. I dug deeper and deeper and tried the other pocket again.

Come on; don’t think I am stupid. Her voice now covered with a tone of annoyance.

I lost it Mum—! I was trying my best to sound as genuine as I could.

A slap on the back that burned like fire followed by yelling threats and squalling opened the tap to tears and helplessness. I took the bucket of wood and stoked the fire some more. I burned all the missing pieces at once and saved me a trip to the shed. It will burn long enough.

I ran to my bedroom and fell onto my bed. Mum entered. I faced the wall rather to see what’s coming next but the next thing I should have expected! The bag of heroes left the room.

You give me the change and you get your books! She shouted in the distance.

I always have to cover for you but tonight Dad will have to take care of you. She added salt to my wounds. I cried silently and fell asleep.

A fire ranging out of control! I had to run—the heat was so much—where am I? The heat the heat the heat—

I woke up in a cold sweat. I heard how Dad placed his briefcase on the kitchen cupboard. Some mumbling followed.

Where the hell is he? Dad shouted and stormed into my room. Still dazed from sleep I could only cover my head. The leather belt fell hard on my back and legs. I tried to fend off some blows but my hand got in the way. The tip of my finger took the brunt of one blow. It was now too sore to cry any more.

I told you not to swing the gate—didn’t I? Who the hell was going to fix that—! He shouted so loud that it could be heard by Aunt Heather.

Oblivious to the accusations I just curled up further and let time take its course. He could only hit me for so long and then he will stop.

When you’re done pissing yourself get your ass to the gate—! He shouted.

I had no idea what that was all about? I’d rather not postpone the inevitable and took off like a rocket. The gate was leaning to one side. The wooden post had snapped! I recall the episode with the gang. They had overdone it this time. It would not help telling Dad this as his response would be another hiding. I was banned from playing with those children as long as he was alive.

As Dad approached the gate, my heart thumped in my throat.

How the hell did you manage this? He said with clear annoyance. I kept a distance of at least three feet. A backhand or something can hurt a lot. His hands were as hard as rock. Yet I gathered courage.

Dad, it was not me. It was those— I was interrupted with only the gesture of his body language—this had to wait a while.

Fetch me the pick and shovel and—move it! He shouted.

I jolted into action. The shed had everything. The pick and shovel stood at their usual places. One at a time was all that I could manage. The pick was my first choice. The thing was heavy. I ran two steps and walked five but handed Dad the pick. I turned around, followed the same procedure, and returned with the shovel.

By the time I returned with the shovel, a big hole, the size of a car wheel was already visible around the pole. Perspiration ran down Dad’s face. He is very old. Mum said that he was turning forty-two next week.

A request for a spanner to fit the nut, on which the gate pivots, followed. I had a good sense of size and what to get. My eagerness to get the gate fixed paid off. Dad’s attitude changed as he progressed. Somehow, we both knew what had happened. With the job now complete and the gate fitted to a new post, the daunting task of cleaning up and putting away all the tools that was used on the job, started.

So caught up in my thoughts of taking some revenge on the gang, I did not hear Alice and her dad pull up to their driveway. Her voice can calm any storm at sea.

Did you get the books? She asked.

Yes and thanks. I will read them as fast I can. I said.

My answer so positive and my boldness surprised her. She nodded and stared at me as if to say something else. Boldness and some intellect go hand in hand. I failed to grasp. Then the penny dropped. I dropped everything in my hands, ran around to the gate, and opened it for Alice. Her dad nodded a thank you. She smiled as they drove in and I closed the gate again.

I completed my task of rounding up the gate escapade. With all done, the sun gave his last wave goodbye. The chill of the evening set in.

At the stairs, I could hear Mum and Dad talk as she filled his bath. The smell of cooked food from the kitchen stirred my stomach. I could do with some inner strength.

The back door opened a few seconds later and Peter entered.

What mood is Dad in? He asked.

I took one look at him and made my way to my room that Peter and I shared. I gave him a gesture to follow.

What happened? He asked.

The gang broke the gate and Dad thinks it’s me. I also got beaten up by Otto when I went to the shop for Mum. Dad gave me a hiding for that—I think it was for that or because I shortchanged Mum. But I did not take the money—I swear—

—OK—OK—I get it.

Where have you been? I asked Peter and knew that he was not at home when Dad came home. Guilty as sin and that will result in him tasting leather. All the sheep had to be gathered at nightfall. Peter was the black sheep of the family.

Now you see, you upset him and now I am going be on the receiving end. You are his blue eyed boy in any case—

I turned and sat at the head of the bed with my legs crossed and just looked at him. For the first time in my life, I knew that life was hard and there were no escape from this. You can only deal with it.

Chapter Two

A few years later

E ntering the schoolyard on the last day of summer was the most exciting part in any scholar’s life. It meant holidays for five weeks. The big question was what my holiday would hold in store for me. We gathered in the hall, Principal started his speech and covered various topics, from his pride in being the Principal to safety on the roads, and that he wants us all back the following year.

Across the passage where I sat was Rosa. She had a dark complexion and always looked sun tanned. She was also dark haired, but short. She was pretty, but not one of the favorites at school. The only one within my reach but the problem were her outlook in life were so much different to mine. Rosa could stand