Me and Africa
The confluence of post-colonial geopolitics has eddied at my feet. I know this because my inbox tells me it is so. One can’t of course plot casual chains in our go-go hypercomplex world, the implication being that any of our names could come up on the spin of the Wheel O’ Destiny. Not a day goes past where some cosmically significant paradigm is smothered like a defective kitten and I get a subsequent email.
Here are a few of the intrigues I am caught up in:
Mr. Mahagregry Mahagregry, the former finance minister of Benin, is eager to put me in touch with his personal secretary, Mr. John Best who, despite having a Danish email address, lives in Chile. Mr. Mahagregry has the $800,000 we had discussed, but perhaps of the hypercomplexity of the networked age, but if I had conversation with Mahagregry Mahagregry, it plum slipped my mind. Would have remembered the name, I think.
Mrs. Juliet Edwards of Egypt (The famous Egypt! In Africa!) assures me that I am her brother in Christ, and that her husband Ken mentioned me by name as he lay dying from complications of an “arrest of the cardiac”. I knew a guy named Ken, but he worked in a video store in Antioch, California. This Ken, Juliet’s Ken, worked for Chevron/Texaco in Nigeria. Anyway, Ken Edwards wanted me to have 9.8 Million US. Juliet is dying of lung cancer, and needs my help with some banking officials in Lagos. I don’t know what it is about banks in Africa, but they seem to never let their customers withdraw any money. I like my banks conservative, but that just seems overly cautious.
Strangely enough, Swiss Banks have gone to hell. They’re running some kind of monkey house over in Geneva. Need evidence? Consider the case of the shadowy Mr. Karl.
An executive with Suisse Bank, he tracked me down “through personal endeavors” as the most deserving recipient of the largess of the late Mr. Leo Brun “The Director of the Military for Chad”. I know I have a reputation for having geopolitical JUICE, but this just seems arbitrary to me.
Meanwhile, Chico Oniga from the COMPENSATION GOVERNMENT HOUSE in Johannesburg has proposed collaborating on some kind of tricky-dicky bit of business with me. It involves a dead farmer, a corrupt bureaucrat and an orphanage. My cut? “TWENTY MILLION USDOLLARS” See, they know I’m cool, I’m discreet, I’m no rat. And we might, just might, get the gold back to the orphans. This one feels right to me.
If you’ll excuse me, I have to send an international cashier’s check to Chico, to show him that I’m committed.