President-for-Life Ousmane Diarra, First Citizen of the Umbazi Republic, Conqueror of the Marquette Empire, Lord of the Lions and Leopards, sat, tired, in his gold-leaf throne, his tired old eyes red from a run of sleepless nights of late.
In front of him was a "Family Audience"- a recent necessity- in which all his Sons, Daughters, Daughters and Sons-in-Law, Grandchildren and other relatives could come to him and air their greivances and report their progress in running the Great Umbazi Republic. It ought to have pleased the old patriarch that so many of his family were directly involved in the running of this country, responsible for everything from Armaments to Natural Gas to the Post Office.
That is, if they weren't all exceptionally useless shit from a rancid elephant's ass.
"Will you all just SHUT UP?" he roared, his voice hoarse from decades of hard-drinking and smoking the finest tobacco. "I cannot believe the hullaballoo I have to endure from you shitheads! Now, shut up, sit down, and speak ONE AT A TIME, or I will have my guards throw you into the Barani Sewers." This was not an idle threat. More than once Ousmane had used his incredible power to punish wayward family members. Noone now spoke of Uncle Toule, or his family. They had tried to back a coup in 1994, and they- and their entire village- had been ruthlessly slaughtered by the Presidential Guard.
"Great Father, I have come to you because Kwame Diarra is Minister of Natutral Gas, yet I have a better head for economics and business. You know this, it is why you sent me to study in Marquette, at great expense." Jophet Diarra, the second eldest grandson at 21, had only just finished his Degree in Business Studies at the finest University in Marquette.
"Great Father, you appointed me to this post because you saw my value! Do not let Jophet dissuade you from-" Ousmane simply waved his hand, and Kwame instantly shutup. He knew his Grandfather's moods well.
"Jophet, do you trust in Ousmane? Do you trust in my wisdom?" he asked pointedly, his aged bloodshot eyes staring hard into the younger man's.
"Y-yes, Great Father..."
"Then trust in me again. I have something else in mind for you and your skills. Kwame will not be allowed to mess up this post, any more than I allow anything else to go awry in this country. Trust in my judgement." he said, his iron grating voice echoing harshly in the marble Audience Hall.
There were many silent glances and much shuffling amongst the gathered family members. The criticism was implicit.
"Return to your villa, Jophet. I will call on you soon. I have a very special mission in mind for you. I will say only this- brush up on your Kyivan." Jophet brightened, and prostrated himself. "Your Will, Great Father."
"Kwame, dont fuck this job up. Squeeze those raghead Uroudah in the Northern Provinces, and meet the quota however you have to. You have command of 2 Brigades of the Local Garrison. If you need more, let me know. We will have our Gas, and through it we will shall have the First World by the balls." he grinned, revealing a fine set of gold dentures. "Goldentooth" was one of many irrevent nicknames given to the old Dictator, but never spoken aloud in public.
"Now, who else has business with Great Father?" he asked, staring hard at the ungrateful brood of serpents he called his family.
He was 81, and he felt every year. But as long as breath was in his body, he was Master of All he surveyed. The only question on everyone's minds was, for how long....
In front of him was a "Family Audience"- a recent necessity- in which all his Sons, Daughters, Daughters and Sons-in-Law, Grandchildren and other relatives could come to him and air their greivances and report their progress in running the Great Umbazi Republic. It ought to have pleased the old patriarch that so many of his family were directly involved in the running of this country, responsible for everything from Armaments to Natural Gas to the Post Office.
That is, if they weren't all exceptionally useless shit from a rancid elephant's ass.
"Will you all just SHUT UP?" he roared, his voice hoarse from decades of hard-drinking and smoking the finest tobacco. "I cannot believe the hullaballoo I have to endure from you shitheads! Now, shut up, sit down, and speak ONE AT A TIME, or I will have my guards throw you into the Barani Sewers." This was not an idle threat. More than once Ousmane had used his incredible power to punish wayward family members. Noone now spoke of Uncle Toule, or his family. They had tried to back a coup in 1994, and they- and their entire village- had been ruthlessly slaughtered by the Presidential Guard.
"Great Father, I have come to you because Kwame Diarra is Minister of Natutral Gas, yet I have a better head for economics and business. You know this, it is why you sent me to study in Marquette, at great expense." Jophet Diarra, the second eldest grandson at 21, had only just finished his Degree in Business Studies at the finest University in Marquette.
"Great Father, you appointed me to this post because you saw my value! Do not let Jophet dissuade you from-" Ousmane simply waved his hand, and Kwame instantly shutup. He knew his Grandfather's moods well.
"Jophet, do you trust in Ousmane? Do you trust in my wisdom?" he asked pointedly, his aged bloodshot eyes staring hard into the younger man's.
"Y-yes, Great Father..."
"Then trust in me again. I have something else in mind for you and your skills. Kwame will not be allowed to mess up this post, any more than I allow anything else to go awry in this country. Trust in my judgement." he said, his iron grating voice echoing harshly in the marble Audience Hall.
There were many silent glances and much shuffling amongst the gathered family members. The criticism was implicit.
"Return to your villa, Jophet. I will call on you soon. I have a very special mission in mind for you. I will say only this- brush up on your Kyivan." Jophet brightened, and prostrated himself. "Your Will, Great Father."
"Kwame, dont fuck this job up. Squeeze those raghead Uroudah in the Northern Provinces, and meet the quota however you have to. You have command of 2 Brigades of the Local Garrison. If you need more, let me know. We will have our Gas, and through it we will shall have the First World by the balls." he grinned, revealing a fine set of gold dentures. "Goldentooth" was one of many irrevent nicknames given to the old Dictator, but never spoken aloud in public.
"Now, who else has business with Great Father?" he asked, staring hard at the ungrateful brood of serpents he called his family.
He was 81, and he felt every year. But as long as breath was in his body, he was Master of All he surveyed. The only question on everyone's minds was, for how long....