Our coffee boy is so slow that I shall starve before he wheels his cart around, fumbles for sandwiches, and hands me a tuna. I had no breakfast this morning, no dinner last night, and lunch says he's a distant prospect. These endless missions are killing me. Yet, I'd rather choke there than suffocate here. Where am I? I have not touched the report that I must write to change our development project's scope and save it from the bell. It's funny. There are scanty pickings on our floor. A great many must have slept in to listen to the state of the nation address, which is presumably what yesterday's rogue military had in mind for effect. Sure there are more pirates on our backs on any given day than ever thrived from the Isle of Tortuga. And they will cling longer. "Well, impact this, Mr. Charlie!" growled the sea lion as he whisked a five-foot sword from its scabbard and pressed hard to the fore. "You featherless cockatoo, you! Too long have I excused your droppings. I shall now cork your bottom." And, with a deafening roar and eyefuls of fury, with a beard nigh covered in breadcrumbs, Captain Stung aimed at the bosun's head and lopped it off adroitly. It rolled a whole three meters on the beach. The mutineers giggled in embarrassment and shuffled their briefs. "Come on then, you borucas! Taste my steel and forever hold your peace." He broke the proceedings, flared nostrils in relish. He savored too the licks that each wave had at his toes. Not a bad start to a story, this. It takes you back to Tintin and Captain Haddock. But no coffee boy still. He must have struck a deal with the bosun because the flower boy has watered the same pot five times in the last three hours. Why can't I write that report? Because few will read it, even fewer act on it, and none shall remember it. Maybe they would if … I make it a study in duplicity for publication? Damn! It's their money, right? And is it not considerable goodwill that our bank administers it? Rather, my work should fill pretty much the leisurely time span that I assigned to it. Our division's director won't mind, if he bothers to check. He's part of the set-up and grew quite fat on it. Why should he want to change? Anyway, just in case, let's keep a file on the qui vive at the desktop. And here's the trolley boy! "Good afternoon, Sir. Can I collect?" "You're a bit early, aren't you?" "Sorry, Sir. There are no sandwiches." Humph! Right. This old file will do. It's amazing: it's the same old story and plays to the same tune. "Provision of surface drainage in the western part of the project area was not included in the project scope at appraisal. It was envisaged that it would be needed several years after project completion to prevent water logging and salinity problems. However, subsequent groundwater monitoring revealed the rapid rise of the water table in part of the project area, prompting the need to proceed immediately with expansion of the drainage facilities. The overall cost increased by $61.6 million." Wow! Let me change one or two words. And now, for the sections on lessons learned and the project's impact on poverty, ethnic minorities, and other vulnerable groups, especially women. Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose. Because every little mistake is a step in the right direction, we're good at fighting poverty in the Asian region. (July 2003)
Copyright ©2003 Olivier Serrat |
