A Presidential Morning (1)
Kwaata, of Mpesaase, known to the world as His Excellency Nana Sir Obrempong Ewiasewura Kwaku Atta I, Esq., QB, SAG, OBE, KFC, and lately President of Ogyakrom, savoured every morsel of the otweeben soup with relish, his supporting wife sitting beside him, carefully dabbing off the soup if it threatened to leak from the presidential lips.
Finished, he carefully washed his right hand in the richly flavoured soapy water, sniffed under the fingernails, and washed a second time, taking care to work under the nails. The flavour had a way of sticking under the nails and making its presence felt under the most unpleasant of circumstances. Having washed his mouth in the basin in the de lux bathroom, he put on his suit coat and prepared to proceed downstairs.
The time was a little after seven.
Early in his political career, he had started a tradition that has served him well over the years, and he has no intention of departing from it, which was to attend to people who came to him in the house with various maladies and pleas. As he progressed up the political ladder, however, the numbers had increased, and he had realized, at a point, that he just had to put a system in place to attend these people, most of whom were after petty cash.
For that purpose, he had appointed Oppong Kyekyeku, a family member from Mpesaase, to sieve through the supplicants, attend to those who wanted petty cash, and find appointments for those whose problems he must attend to personally. As a consequence, every morning, his money man and junior brother Ansah Kwame Atta (whom he has privately given the moniker ‘Bukata’), a member of his highly private inner sanctum (and his only business partner) gives Oppong enough cash for the purpose. Kwaata had a strict regime of monitoring Oppong to ensure that he did not stray.
So, now, Oppong, as political assistant, was in an outer office closer to the gate, dispensing raw cash to dozens of supplicants. Overtime, Oppong had developed the system into a fine art. He had ways to seeing through the various stories and strategems, to establish which stories were genuine, and to quickly weed out the repeat applicants, who basically appeared at the gates to look for free cash every day. Oppong also dealt with the party people and gave them appointments, mostly on Friday afternoons.
So, coming downstairs, Kwaa, firmly ensconced behind his Ogyakrom-made facemask, knew that only people who necessarily had to see him were present. He strolled into his large hall, greeting everybody by the elbow.
Present were his just appointed National Security Advisor Major (Rtd) Anthony Dzigbodi, a former Army Major turned politician, a trained lawyer, academician, chartered Accountant and journalist of note (whom he has privately named One-Man-Thousand) who would accompany him in the presidential limousine along with his press aide, Osagyefo Huntahunu Kwaku Amofa, the Chief of the Teansa people, no doubt come with a list of people he believed should be given ministerial positions in the new government (the Teansa formed the biggest political voting block for Kwaa’s party), and his brother Bukata.
Also present was the party chairman and general secretary, both holding briefcases and no doubt come with lists of potential appointees of their own. Kwaa intended to make short work of them. During the campaigning, these two had spent of time deliberately squandering campaign funds and seemed to have come into the game under the assumption that raising funds was the sole preserve of the candidate. Kwaa had been forced to sell virtually all his assets, borrow money from people he would rather never speak to, all to fund the campaign whilst this pair engages in gorging themselves on the same funds. Now, here they were, to make claims!
Smiling at them glacially behind his mask, he entered his office downstairs and set a limit of six minutes per supplicant. Some of the people would have to come in groups, and others would be attended to alone. Necessarily, they must come by order of precedence, and with Kwaa, always a politics, first, second and third, thought the choice was easy to make. He indicated to his Press Aide Ralph Bonsu imperiously to join him inside.
“Send in Nana, first,” he ordered.
Osagyefo Huntahunu Kwaku Amofa, the Chief of the Teansa, in full regalia and accompanied by three backers (anytime Kwaa saw the practice he thought of barking dogs) was assisted (there was no other word for it, because he was a perfectly healthy man, who, on other occasions, went whoring with Kwaa and loved rutting, particularly with young girls)) into the private sanctum of the President. Once seated, his Okyeame started with introductions, and Kwaa realized that unless he took matters into his own hands, his time (which he didn’t not have) was about to be seriously wasted by this pretentious timewaster.
“Ha ha ha, Nana is an old friend, so you don’t have to go through all that rigmarole. In fact, we met over forty years ago as young men, and he gave me my first girlfriend. Has he told you about our days in New York?” Kwaa laughed.
It was a true story. As a young man, Nana, then known as Kwame Piesie, as a nephew of the Royal House of Teansa, had been assigned to the Royal House of Mpesaase to be trained in royal manners. Kwaa himself (then known as Kwaa), was also a Royal of the Mpesaase stool, and had spent a good part of their time terrorizing the maidens of the village.
Later, both of them having shown as affinity for the white man’s education, had been sponsored to travel to the United States and England to further their education. In Washington, the pair had gloriously drank, played and whored their way through a couple of riotous yeas, but whilst Kwaa, through all that had managed to keep his steps on the educational rung, Nana had somehow fumbled and turned to the world of business, and living off older women. Kwaa was later to travel to Oxford in the United Kingdom whilst Nana stayed on in the United States.
As a young lawyer, he was to take up Nana as a client at Ogyakrom.
Reverting to the name he had known him in the younger days, Kwaa said deliberately, “Kwame, can you tell our children here to wait for us outside? I am sure they do not need to hear all our conversation, no?”
Offended, Nana knew enough about politics and politicians to keep his face friendly and benign. A few weeks ago this dweeb had virtually taken to his knees to beg him to ensure that the millions of people who swore allegiance to Teansa voted for him. Even though they were virtually brothers in all ways except by blood, and had spent decades together in times gone by, he knew that once he had forced him to grovel, Kwaa too was going to do the same.
Waving his arm, he indicated to his three courtiers to go out of the room.
Immediately they were out of the room, Kwaa tried to get back in the good books of the Chief. Already, he had his eye on the second term, and this was not a man one offended lightly, even under the best of circumstances. Since assuming the all-powerful seat of Chief of Teansa, Kwame Piesie has changed. Always unprincipled and likely to play every card to get at his own ends, he had ensured that Kwaa make promises, and apparently he was here to collect. He had demanded five ministerial posts, to be peopled by people from Teansa, and off his own choosing. Kwaa was prepared to cede two such positions. He would personally fill in the other three.
Everybody should be able to eat, now that the food was cooked.
To be continued.
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