“I think we need more PVC paste,” suggested President Jagdeo a little miffed he was doing the plumbing for the hotel only hours before the Rio summit was to open.
This was the 22nd bathroom fitting he and his colleague had been working on that day and quite frankly it was losing its appeal.
Another loud rumble shook the building. There was so much trapped air in the plumbing system that it was like living in the intestines of a flatulent elephant.
The whole Cabinet was now inside this gaseous beast, working on various projects.
Downstairs in the casino, Ashni was lining up the slot machines, while Minister Baksh was trying to teach the imported Chinese cooks that dog’s testicles were certainly not featured on the menu. Ministers Rohee and Prashad were helping to prop up the bar.
In front of the hotel Minister Persaud was hurriedly transplanting rows of cane as part of an exhibit demonstrating Guyana’s various agricultural sectors.
Jagdeo got up stiffly and walked back to his new Oval Office on the third floor of the renamed Buddy and Bharrat International Hotel. After all having forked over $168M he deserved to have his name on the building although, he sometimes wondered if the hotel might be the downfall of his Presidency. From his window he could see the Casique, a tangle of steel rods and concrete. It reminded him of some bombed out Baghdad building.
Indeed in his more introspective moments – when not cursing out the Stabroek News, avoiding difficult questions or apologising for his ministers’ atheistic remarks – he worried the CWC might turn out to be his Iraq. A hugely expensive venture he had blundered into with little thought and a lot of pride. Between the unfinished hotel, the inadequate airport, criminals, an unreliable GPL and GWI, there was the recipe for a complete disaster which would be blamed fairly and squarely on himself.
Now the insurgent press was hammering him: they were – as Cheney would say – unpatriotic. They did not love his country the way he did.
At least living in the hotel meant he could devote all his time to his constituency of one, having already passed the Orwellian sounding Prevention of Gambling (Amendment) Act.
And in this new province of Buddistan, there was no free press to shed light on covert loans, no inconvenient parliament to prolong debate, no protests by mullahs and bishops.
It was a kind of utopia, where the No 1 citizen worked harmoniously with the No 1 politician. Whatever was needed was granted without delay regardless of any pesky approvals by the EPA or other bodies that could get in the way of progress – what a beautiful word, progress, it justified everything.
Editorial
“Buy a container, put it on a foundation, paint it up and put a little window and that can be the library so children have access to books
