The Boss
Kwaata, of Mpesaase, known to the world as His Excellency Nana Sir Obrempong Ewiasewura Kwaku Atta I, Esq., QB, SAG, OBE, KFC and to a highly specialized inner circle as simply ‘Kwaa’ or ‘Kwaata’, took a deep breathe into his lungs, and expelled slowly, as he looked through the heavy-tint of the presidential window at the world, far below.
So, this is what it feels like, being a President of a country.
It was not a bad feeling, at all. In fact, it was a distinctly good feeling. Despite his sixty-five years of hard living, he felt a sudden twinge in his trousers, specifically in the zipper region. Old Joe was making his presence felt. Kwaata knew that now that they were back from campaign, and he has been declared President, he would have to make special arrangements for Old Joe here in this office. The bedroom ensconced at the back, for presidential siestas, would need to be properly applied. The Yaa Ponko appointment as Special Aide was crucial. When Old Joe grew tired of her, she would become a Deputy Minister. Kwaata had an idea who was going to take her place as Aide. Only necessary to keep one’s options fresh and open.
He smiled. In fact, Old Joe really knows that they have arrived. Through all the whoring, lying, stealing, corner cutting and betrayal, they have arrived. And if anybody should know what he, Kwaata, has gone through to get to this point, Old Joe would. He had been present through every single ordeal, silent, present and attached, often called upon to stand and contribute his due, other times to park in there in his trousers quietly and mind his peace, but always present. Yes, if anybody would know what this journey has been like, Old Joe would.
Kwaata smiled again. He turned and walked through the deep pile carpeting to his new desk. It was fully twelve feet across from end to end, and six feet wide, deeply polished ebony, the black and browns seeming to have a life of their own. Piled high with briefings already. Every piece of furniture in the room, running a full half section of the fourth floor of the Presidential Palace, was made of the very best of woods, with ebony predominating. Money had not been spared to create this presidential office. It could compare to any in the West, or even in the East, no matter that this was one of the poorest countries on the planet. In fact, it much more sumptuous than many in the West.
It spanned a full thirty meters in length and twenty meters in width with heart stopping views to the front and side of the right corner of the main building in the Presidential Complex. A private lift at the back would lift him (along with Old Joe, of course) to whoever was appointed as Special Aide to the similarly well-appointed bedroom up stairs. Yaa Ponko will be enjoying that lift for the next few months, then…
Kwaata settled his huge frame, six and a half feet of African male, behind his desk, his impressive jowls and wattles moving. A very handsome man in his youth, years of hard living and an appetite for all the gastronomic and other fleshy delights of the world had made his face beefy and wattled. Without doubt, he told himself often, he liked to eat and drink. And fornicate. Never in public, of course. Otherwise people will wonder at how much he can tuck away. He smiled.
A movement made him look down and to the left behind his desk at the bank of video monitors, six in all, that covered various parts of the presidential suit. The movement was from the video feed from camera number one, which covered the well-lit fifteen feet corridor that was the only approach to his office. Striding down the corridor towards his office was Ralph Bonsu, his Press Aide throughout the campaign that propelled him to office as President. Ralph has been walking very high since the election victory. Time to take him down a peg, just for the fun of it, Kwaata thought, laughing in his head. He liked being mischievous.
Any stranger visiting his office did not know that the cameras were there. It gave him a momentary advantage to prepare what to say to whoever came to into the presidential office. The others, placed at various vantage points, gave him visual access to key areas such as the outer reception at the complex, the inner reception, and covered vital areas as the immediate corridor to the office of the ‘Viper’, the Vice President, who was housed in another part of the complex, the ‘Sinkhole’, his Chief of Staff (to be named today), the seating area and his security hold. He had audio when he was interested, but today, the first full day at the office, the audio was quiet. Nobody else knew of the existence of the cameras, he had been told at the highly personal security briefing this morning. And he would be wise to make sure nobody knows. Only he would have a key that opened the panel to the video feed, for the duration of his presidency. He had been cautioned to keep this knowledge to himself. Kwaata intended to.
A moment later Ralph pushed the door and strode into the room without knocking. Kwaata watched him till he took the third step, and barked.
“Stop right there!”
The young man, in his late twenties, came to a shocked stop.
“Sir?”
“Who gave you the right to come in here like that?”
“Sir?”
Kwaata fixed a baleful eye on the discomfited young man, “Did you knock?”
“No sir, I…”
“Shut up!” Kwaata his wasp. “Henceforth, never address me as Sir!”
“Sir…”
“Excellency! Address me as Excellency!”
“Excellency!”
“Now, did you knock?”
“No…
“Excellency!”
“Excellency, No, I didn’t…”
“Did you hear me saying you could come in?”
“Excellency, no I didn’t.”
“Did you bow when you came in?
“Excellency, I did not, but…”
Kwaata’s cold look stopped him. “You did not? Why?”
“Excellency, throughout the campaign, you ordered your close staff never to knock when we had an urgent message sir.”
Kwaata replied, “When we were campaigning, I was what?”
“Excellency, you were flag bearer.”
“And today I am what?”
“President, Excellency.”
“Now, is being flag bearer the same as President?”
“Excellency, you are right,” Ralph stammered as the scales started coming down from his eyes.
Kwaata sat back, and looked at Ralph balefully for several seconds. Then he flicked his meaty wrist, indicating that his aide should go out and come in again.
Discomfited, Ralph turned on his heels and went out the door. He closed it carefully after him, his boss monitoring him. He turned, turned his head up and shook his head, his face a picture a picture of wonder, shook himself vigorously, and knocked again.
Kwaata waited sadistically for a second knock, and called, “Come in.”
Carefully, Ralph stepped into the room, bowed deeply, and straightened.
“Yes?” Kwaata barked.
“Excellency, I came with your speech for your first meeting with the press, that we promised to hold in our first week in office. Can I bring it to you?”
“You may,” Kwaata allowed with a thin smile.
“Did we promise to meet the press in our first week?” he wondered.
“Excellency, we did, and already I have had inquiries on the day and time,” Ralph said.
“Pestilential lot, the press,” His Excellency grumbled soto voce, even though his Aide heard and wondered. The flag bearer had been a darling of the press for years, and he was wondering when they became ‘pestilential’ to the man who had courted them so arduously over the years.
“Well, we would see. For now, I want you to issue a press release, announcing these appointments. Make sure I approve before you release them, yes?”
“Excellency, I have heard you.”
“You better!” said his Excellency, handing over the list to him.
Ralph took the list, and went out the door. Kwaata watched him on the camera. As soon as he was out the door and the door safely shut, he stopped to look at the list.
The first was Melisa Sarpongmaa, the firebrand politician, who had warmed the bed of Kwaata throughout the vigorous campaign. Melisa, with a 34 18 36 figure, could stop a heart when she put on jeans or a mini skirt, both of which she liked wearing. She had been selected for the campaign trial by campaign strategists because Kwaata, a former assemblyman, member of parliament and minister, had a wondering eye and an insatiable cock, even at 65 (a deadly combination in any leader depending on votes in a Christian country) and Melisa, apart from a grade one brain, was properly married to an ambitious husband who was able and willing to allow his wife to go traipsing around the country for weeks on end and was very discreet to boot. And in any case, Kwaata’s wife hated travel and the hustle of campaigning, even with her 48 inch behind. The Chief Strategist had insisted that she come along, to keep Kwaata happily in water throughout the campaign, but Madam (now 1st Lady) had stoutly resisted, and they were left with Melisa, whose lack of morals were matched by her volubility. She could scream on the campaign platform with the best of them, and the rumor mill had it that she could keep a cock happy for hours.
So she went on the campaign with her thirty-six inch behind, assisted by Yaa Ponko, a donation from a chief from the Tavlo region to assist her in servicing Kwaata’s uncontrollable libido, with daily prayers from the cognoscenti of the campaign that they will not come home with a candidate with a heart attack.
The prayers of the cognoscenti were answered. And now Melisa had been penned down for a ministerial berth.
Kwaata smiled as he watched his Aide shake his head.
Second on the list was Yaa Ponko, the ‘donation’ from the chief from the Tavlo region. Yaa was a very beautiful daughter of the chief with an education in social sciences from Harvard University and a full political nonentity who had tagged onto the campaign after being ‘donated’ by her father. Ralph’s name was last on the list of five fresh appointees. She was to be a Special Aide to the President.
The third was Yaw Broni Kwapong, known within the inner circle as the ‘Sinkhole’, for his uncanny ability to produce or sink vast sums of money, apparently at whim. If you needed money fast, and you wanted to spend it usefully even faster, the person to go to was the Sinkhole. He was an invaluable assert in the campaign.
The fourth was the ‘Barker’, another young man like Ralph who acted at the alter ego of the flag bearer. The Barker attended all meetings that the Flag bearer attended, his primary function to strongly and volubly support any proposition from the Flag Bearer. The Barker also had a Ministerial berth.
Ralph shook his head, not-knowing his boss was watching him. All the four others named had great new appointments. But he, Ralph, almost singlehandedly responsible for every written word that came out of the mouth of Kwaata, was named in an acting capacity, still as Press Aide, and last on the list too.
Ralph shook his head, with a shiver. He recalled the case of the last Press Aide in this office, who had been fired by a text message.
Watching him, a mean look in his eyes, Kwaata told himself that the boy now knows who was clearly the Boss.
