Egner's Advice "Fake it till you make it!" It was raining when I arrived in Botswana in September 1974. In many places this would have been a bad omen, but not in Botswana. Everyone told me that it was in fact a sign that my time in the country would be “blessed.” My first meeting, the next day, with Brian Egner, gave me pause to wonder. He was at the time (I believe) an Assistant Permanent Secretary in the MLGL. In all professional issues he was to be my 'ultimate' boss. He had himself been a District Officer in the Protectorate days, and had done extensive work in the North East District. As such he had a direct interest in my own work, and had specific designs on my priorities. I did not know this at the time. I entered his office and was surprised to see a cigar-chain-smoking bulky man sitting in a wheel chair. He greeted me in a very penetrative gruffy voice. “So you're Mr Tim Greenhow” studying me with a mixture of doubt and suspicion. “Yes, sir,” I answered as evenly as I could manage. “I suppose I should welcome you to Botswana, but you see I reviewed your CV and application for the job.” His voice began to rise several decibels, and he leaned back in his wheel chair. “And I must be frank with you.” … a little louder, and with additional emphasis...”You don't know anything!” He apparently wasn't one for social preliminaries. A pause for effect – I certainly had nothing to say. “You don't know anything, and I know you don't know anything.” “And now you know that I know that you don't know anything!” It had that very “So there!” tone about it. Everyone in the six floor building and half the people in the Mall heard it. Feeling very soundly put in my place, with nowhere else to go, and nothing particularly occurring to my numbed brain, I sat still, and confirmed his opinion by looking stupidly straight at him. But then he leaned forward, as conspirators do, as if to whisper a deep secret to me. He held his smoking cigar in his left hand and made repetitive gestures towards the north, and said quietly, “but THEY don't know! And you better not tell them!” The meaning was very clear, and he continued, “You go off to Bokalaka, do your work, and within six months, we in this office will see you as THE expert on all things in that part of Central District.” And he sat back in his chair, hiding behind a cloud of Cuban smoke. I don't remember what else, if anything, we talked about. I think I was still in a bit of a daze after his disclosures and remained so for some time. But true to his word, he did call me three months later for advice on a looming drought emergency in the Bokalaka area. ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Have you even heard a caterpillar, let alone a worm, bite? Alone on a trip to Bobonong in eastern Central District, my government vehicle broke down in the middle of nowhere, and I had to spend the night sleeping in it. As I settled in for the night, I became aware of an incessant “tck, tck, tck” sound. In fact, zillions of “tck, tck, tck” sounds, none of them loud in themselves, but constant and ubiquitous. If I didn't find out what it was I'd go crazy before I fell asleep. I had a flashlight so I left the truck in search of the sound. Where to start – it was coming from all sides? OK, take the first tree. The flashlight was dim, and had a restricted coverage, but at last I located the source of the “tcking” – it was “mopane worms,” and there were actually two different clicks: one was the sound of this caterpillar biting off a small mouthful of Colophospermum mopane leaf – its sole source of food; the other was the sound of 'pane worm shit hitting leaves on its way to the ground. The sounds were almost indistinguishable. For every bite, it seemed, the “worm” had to make digestive space by shitting out an equivalent bit of waste. My mind now at ease, I slept peacefully to that endless “tck, tck, tck,” knowing that the year's harvest of 'pane worms would probably be more bountiful than ever, and that I need not worry about getting my share. ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Don't you love Savingrams!?! The Savingram was the principal medium of communication between all public sector entities in Botswana. Which ever officer drafted them, they were always sent “over the signature” of the head of office, for example the District Commissioners (DC) and District Council Secretaries (DS) who had to have close communication with each other. This necessity was sometimes disturbed by mutual personal dislikes or occasional disagreements. In some periods the sensitivities between the North East DC and DS were particularly strained – bordering on a power struggle. In one matter, the DC wished to have some answers from the CS on a particularly touchy matter, and instructed me to write the letter, which he then signed. Off went the letter, but no reply came in the expected time. A reminder was written, signed and sent. Again no response. A second reminder still produced no answer. Solution? Write a third reminder, take it by hand to the Council insisting that I hand it directly to the CS. Not being party to the particular source of irritation between the DC and DS, I was apparently a neutral figure. “I really don't know how to answer this,” he tells me, “perhaps you can help me draft a response to the DC, in a way that would meet the DC's requirements, but not be too embarrassing for the Council.” A few drafts done, torn up and thrown out, until we get one that he's happy with. Off it goes to the typing pool, and I return to the DC's office and tell the DC it will only be a couple of days before he gets his response. Win-win solution all round! Later, as the Senior Planner (North) I had responsibilities that extended to urban (!) planning of Kasane (pop. 1800), and made periodic working trips there. Kasane had no Town Clerk – whose functions such as they were(n't) were covered by the DC. At the time there was no DO, DOD or DO/L stationed there so the DC's workload was considerable. The current DC had been a District Officer in Francistown, when I was working out of that office as a DO/L so we knew each other reasonably well. On this particular occasion, there was a matter that DTRP needed input from the DC's office in Kasane. I wrote and signed (as Senior Officer) and sent off the necessary request. No response. No big deal, I had a trip planned to Chobe District a couple of weeks later. On arrival in Kasane, I asked the DC if he had ever got the letter. “Oh yes, I did,” he replied, “but I have neither the time nor the competence to answer it. I am so glad you're here, because I'm thinking you'd be the best person to write the reply. Do that, and I'll sign the Savingram right away! That would be so helpful!” Another win-win situation. Fortunately, these official letters were always typed, not hand-written. The only tricky part was to use a different style of writing to disguise the fact that request and response were written by the same person.
2 Comments
Egil Bovim
1/2/2021 11:25:10 am
Worked in Tutume when Tim was in Francistown. His description is spot on, as were all his suggestions and advise to a young and unexperienced regional medical officer!
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8/4/2022 12:49:59 pm
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