Civil servants are beautiful. Not next month when the money lands. Right now! This is one of the disingenuous statements they will hear as leeches try to suck something out of them.
The announcement has barely settled and already people are seeing beauty where, only last week, they saw an ordinary government employee, standing in a queue at Faheed’s Supermarket, wearing ballet pumps. The kind that folds like shrimp when taken off. That is how economics works in our part of the world. In Europe, beauty is measured by cheekbones. In America, it is measured by social media followers. In Eswatini, beauty is measured by rumours about your bank account and right now, civil servants are looking like finalists in a national beauty pageant.
The funny thing is that nothing has changed. The same civil servant who was invisible Monday is suddenly interesting Tuesday. Same face. Same (shrimp) shoes. Same car that only starts after a short prayer meeting. The only difference is that people have heard about the 85 per cent salary review due in six weeks. The lies have already started. Somewhere in the country, an ex-girlfriend is typing a message. ‘Hi stranger’. Nobody should trust a message that starts with ‘Hi stranger’. That is not a greeting. That is an audit. The sender is not checking how you are doing. She is checking how the salary review is doing. I have always admired the efficiency of former romantic partners. Government departments can take months to share information. An ex-girlfriend can receive financial intelligence before it reaches the newspapers. Suddenly, she misses your smile. The same smile she once described as irritating. The same smile, she said, needed a dentist. Now it is attractive. Now it is mature. Now it has character. Civil servants are beautiful. Even relatives are beginning to notice. You know the relatives I am talking about. The ones who disappear for years and then return carrying family values.
Soon, somebody will call and begin the conversation with: “Muntuza, we have not spoken in a long time.” Exactly. That is what made the relationship work. The silence, but relatives on this continent never ask for money immediately. They warm up first. They discuss family history. They mention your late grandfather. They remind you that blood is thicker than water. Whenever a conversation starts sounding like a documentary on your family tree, prepare yourself financially.
Somewhere between Lavumisa and Manzini, a cousin is already rehearsing a speech that begins with, ‘We are family’ and ends with a request for E5 000. Civil servants are beautiful. Churches know this, too.
In the coming weeks, some sermons will sound unusually relevant to current economic affairs. A pastor who spent six months warning against materialism may suddenly discover a powerful message about generosity. The Bible will remain unchanged. The timing will not, but to be fair, the congregation deserves some blame. The salary review arrives on Thursday and by Sunday, they are apologising to God for being financially stable for seven minutes. Meanwhile, school fees are waiting. The landlord is waiting. Electricity is waiting. Even the potholes outside the house seem to be waiting, but somebody wants to sow a seed. Africa is probably the only place where a person can be broke and prosperous at the same time. You meet a man whose bank balance is held together by hope and determination. Yet his testimony sounds like he owns three shopping malls.
Civil servants are beautiful. Micro-lenders certainly think so. Those people deserve academic research. A micro-lender can detect incoming money with greater accuracy than weather forecasters predict rain. Forget sniffer dogs. If law enforcement really wants results, they should recruit women. Sorry, meant micro-lenders.
Within an hour, they would know who is getting paid, how much and where they are planning to spend it. The approach is always polite. “Mfowethu, I was just checking on you.”
No. You were checking on your investment. There is a difference. Some micro-lenders know more about a person’s finances than their spouse. There are married couples who do not know each other’s salaries. Micro-lenders know. Meanwhile, the civil servant is standing in a supermarket trying to understand why a trolley with five items now costs the same as a small vehicle. Two conversations. One country.
Only one of them involves a till slip. Civil servants are beautiful. Businesses know it. Car dealerships know it. The moment people receive money, every salesperson suddenly becomes a life coach. “Treat yourself.” Those two words have done more damage to household budgets than inflation. The real danger, however, is friendship. A stranger asks for money. A friend presents an opportunity. “Nja yami, I have a business idea.”
That sentence has emptied more accounts than online scams. The business idea usually requires your money and their confidence. Six months later, the money is gone. The business is gone. Only the confidence survives, but perhaps the biggest dreamers of all are the civil servants themselves. Many have already spent the money. Mentally. The salary review has renovated houses, paid school fees, purchased televisions and settled debts without a single cent being deposited. Some people are already living inside imaginary budgets. African optimism is a powerful thing. Then payday arrives. Reality joins the meeting. Taxes take a seat. School fees take another. Debts sit comfortably at the head of the table. Suddenly, the salary review does not look like a miracle. It looks like prey. Everybody wants a piece of it. And that is the uncomfortable truth beneath all the jokes. People do not suddenly become interested in civil servants because their lives are improving. People become interested because they think there is something to extract. Success in Africa is often announced by the number of people who suddenly need your help. That is why civil servants are beautiful. Not because they have changed. Not because they have become rich, but because everybody else has become interested. A civil servant can spend years being called bhuti. Let people hear he is getting 85 per cent of his salary review and suddenly he becomes ‘Chairman’. Not because he changed. Not because he became handsome. Not because he became wise, but because in this part of the world, beauty is not in the eye of the beholder. Beauty is in the eye of the account holder.
Civil servants are beautiful. Not next month when the money lands. Right now! This is one of the disingenuous statements they will hear as leeches try to suck something out of them.