Fifteen Years of Tobacco

with animals at any given day, but then again, he needed the money. And it's not everyday that a Photographer gets a job working for the President's Press Office.

  Just as he had been promised, Tom helped him to get the job. He arranged a job interview for Jamal with an elderly looking civil service type whom he introduced as “Mr. Theodore”. After a short interview with Mr. Theodore, he was taken for a brief tour around the palace grounds. It was a very big place so they covered just the offices, lobby and recreation room.

  Jamal started work a week later and it was pretty exciting. The first day at work he had plenty of paper work to do. His pay was generous; though he hadn't touched a penny of it yet, it was all laid out in the contract. He spent almost an hour reading through before signing a thing. His pension contributions, fringe benefits, sick pay and travel allowances were all laid out neat.

  After signing the documents, the Human Resource officer brought the last form which took him by surprise. Although he didn't want to sign it, he went ahead and did so because it was safer and wiser.

  It was the DAW72 form and it was headed “Unexpected Death”. It's terms were simple: If an employee happened to die while still employed by the “President's Office”, his/her employer would give a generous financial package to two people preferably the next of kin. Every new employee had to put the names of the two people with their addresses, telephone numbers and dates of birth on the DAW72 form which would then be put in an envelope, sealed and put in their personnel file.

  Jamal had no wife, no children and though he wasn't planning to die soon, he put his mother's details on the form and gave it to the Human Resources Officer who put it in a red envelope and sealed it without even glancing at it.

  The DAW72 or “Death at Work” form drafted in 1972 was simply a piece of paper but it shook Jamal.

  Of course he knew he was mortal but being aged twenty four, he thought he still had plenty of years left in him: Forty or fifty years. He had always thought he would work till retirement then die in old age but here was a piece of paper reminding him that life wasn't to be taken for granted. That day, he thought a lot about life, death and if there was an afterlife! If there wasn't life after death, wasn't life just a waste? Wasn't the promise of a better world without death, suffering, pain, poverty and nuclear weapons just a con? What if it wasn't a con? Hadn't even Stephen Hawking changed his mind and said “There's no life after death! When a person dies, their brain shuts down like a computer motherboard that's beyond repair. ” And hadn't Professor Richard Dawkins dismissed life after death as fantasy in his latest book? Hadn't the atheist Professor Ian Grayling also dismissed heaven as a “fairy tale to keep children happy?” All these things made him sad, thanks to the DAW72 form that had been the ignition.

  It took him couple of beers after work to get him back in a good mood, forget death and drink to life.

  After a month, he got to know his way around the whole palace except for a few areas where he had no access. The presidential palace was just magnificent. The water fountains, the sculptures, gardens and the calmness of the place were just awesome. At one point, Jamal was thinking that perhaps that was what King Solomon's temple had probably looked like! It was unbelievable that such a great palace built with marble and white stone, surrounded by beautiful parks full of trees and flowers was just less than half an hour's drive to the congested city that had passive buildings, slums, traffic congestion, air and noise pollution and crime infested.

  The presidential palace had been built on “The hill of the sun” by the British in the 1880's and had been the seat of the colonial government. When Barudi got independence in 1965 and the British left town, the palace had automatically fallen to the new leaders of the post independence struggle. And what a struggle it was!

  Idris Olutti, a military officer who had trained and served under the King's

  African Rifles forcefully took over power from the local Monarchy, exiling the King and his family. He also jailed the King's sympathisers who were pushing for the monarchy and declared Barudi a Republic.

  The Republic of Barudi then went on to change presidents roughly every five years after violent coups and revolutions until fifteen years ago when a new reformer, Oxford educated Isaiah Mujuni came to power.

  Loved by the west and used by America to contain radical Islam in Barudi and the neighbouring horn of Africa, he became an icon and “ a new breed of desirable leadership in Africa” according to TIME magazine.

  With intentions of reform and applying democratic principles, he changed the country's name to the “Democratic Republic Of Barudi ”. The name change had come overnight, there wasn't even a need for a referendum but that would be among the few things he would manage to pull off easily.

  Poverty, unemployment, corruption, injustice, dysfunctional health services, food insecurity were still rampant. And for a country that was the largest producer and exporter of tobacco, and with a booming tourism industry, the Republic Of Barudi was still ranked among the 10 poorest countries in the world.

  In the past fifteen years, he must have learned that a Politician doesn't simply bring democracy to society. A man who had started as a radical reformer determined to bring fairness and democracy had some how been stopped in his tracks. He lacked the high spirits and enthusiasm he had started with. And now, there was rumour all over the country that the President was frustrated and completely alcoholic.

 

  Jamal was now working for his administration and the first time he met the President was two months after he had been hired.

  He had been summoned to the second floor of the Palace where the President's office, private Library and lobby were. He was meeting a few cabinet ministers and Jamal was to take pictures. One of his bodyguards took him to the grand lobby upstairs where the president and six cabinet ministers were chatting freely. Two of the ministers were standing, an indication that the meeting was over and all seemed in a good mood.

  The president was not so big or so tall but there was some charm and charisma around him.

  They all stood with the president in the middle and Jamal took six sets of pictures. He knew what was required: The ministers would want copies to hang in their offices or show off to their mistresses and two copies would be published in the National Free Press.

  He had quickly learned that The President's Press Office was monitoring the media in the country. The National Free Press was the country's most read and circulated newspaper. It was colourful, educative and informative but out-rightly owned by the government. It's chief editor was appointed and answerable to the President's Press Office and therefore the paper could not

  afford to be impartial.

  Other newspapers just struggled to compete with the National Free Press. With prices of fuel and paper shooting through the roof, most newspapers relied on retail prices as well as advertising. And in a country where poverty is rampant, few would buy a newspaper when they could get one for free.

  So the National Free Press dominated the market.

  Two days later, Jamal was again summoned to photograph the president's dinner guests.

  He could tell immediately that this was an informal event for his close friends. The dinner was held in the President's Private dining area with portraits of his family hanging. On entering, Jamal's camera was taken away by a bodyguard who gave him a smaller but more sophisticated camera which would be left behind after taking the pictures.

  The diners were affluent types. Jamal only recognised one, a controversial Professor who taught History and Philosophy at The State university Of Mungo.

  With a huge afro hair style, a colourful Hawaiian style shirt, a radical beard and big horn rim glasses, he looked rather out of place. The other diners were well groomed though casual. There was a young man, around his age and he guessed right: he was the President's son. Only one man with a British accent and in a suit and tie was so formal. He was explaining financial stuff and how the IMF was just fooling the
world. He raised his glass and a waiter hurried to his side and refilled it with champagne. He then resumed explaining that for the IMF to bail out Greece is to punish other members of the IMF because at the end of the day, they will write off the bail out package as a bad debt. Greece will never pay their debt to the IMF. Not even a penny! And IMF knows it. With that he raised the glass to his mouth and sipped on his champagne.

  The Professor then turned to the President. “ That's why you shouldn't let the IMF tell you how to run your country.

  “Of course Tony is right. IMF knows Greece will never re pay its debt but their only interest is to save the “Euro” currency. It's not fair to other IMF members especially from the third world, not that the IMF ever cared about the third world anyway,” the president observed.

  Jamal would later learn that Tony had been a Wall Street banker at one of the Investment banks that had filed for chapter 11 bankruptcy following the 2008 recession and a long term friend of the president. After ten minutes taking pictures, he handed over the camera and left the room.

  A week later, he was summoned again. He was told to leave his camera behind as another camera would be provided which meant it was an unofficial engagement.

  A bodyguard escorted him upstairs. He passed the President's son playing notes