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February 25, 2007
Je souhaiterais...
Dear friends,
The Journalist leans back in his chair and narrows his eyes. 'Je souhaiterais...' he begins. 'I might wish for...' During the long pause which follows, the Journalist's eyes plead with me to finish the sentence for him. Eventually he tires of my blank gaze and finishes it himself: '...quelque chose.'
'Je souhaiterais quelque chose,' he repeats, more confidently this time. 'I might wish for something.' I try to look intrigued and innocent, hoping this will deter him from spelling out his request.
The Journalist has spectacles-on-a-chain, impeccable French and a regular current affairs show on national TV. We have been paying him a modest fee to advise us during the preparation of the Djibo FM dossier de candidature: eighty pages of flowery French explaining why we should be allocated the Djibo broadcasting permit. Now I am sitting in the Journalist's office at the TV station, and the time has come, it seems, to share with each other our hopes and dreams.
Je souhaiterais is a sublime expression, isn't it? So much more refined and wistful than Je voudrais. As it turns out, though, the Journalist is wishing for something fairly down to earth: an injection of cash substantial enough to propel our dossier all the way along the corridors of power. The Journalist Knows People, apparently.
So far as I am concerned, it is fine to pay a consultant for his advice, but less fine to spray purple-backs around the offices of a government body. I tell the Journalist in a roundabout way that the Conseil Superieur de Communication will simply have to base its decision on the contents of our dossier.
We part ways amicably enough, he to pick up his motorbike from the mechanics, and me to hand in the radio dossier at the CSC. The receptionist there looks strikingly like Mme Makutsi from The Ladies No. 1 Detective Agency ("She wore oval glasses with wide plastic frames, and she had a fixed but apparently quite sincere smile"). I want to ask her whether she graduated from the Botswana College of Secretarial and Office Skills with 97%. Instead I ask how long she thinks the Conseil Superieur will take to come to a decision.
Mme Makutsi's eyes look very big behind her oval glasses. 'The Conseil have a lot of dossiers to evaluate,' she says.
'So it could take weeks?'
'Oui.' The big eyes brighten. 'Weeks and weeks.'
'And do I get a receipt of some sort to prove that I've been here today?'
'Non.'
'I see.'
'Trust me,' she says, and reaches for the dossier.
It's out of our hands now. The fledging dossier will have to fly through some pretty dark and labyrinthine places over the next three months, so please pray that God's will be done. It is good to have arrived at this stage, and it would be even better to arrive at the next one.
Please pray for Charlie, too, as she hands over Precious Girl Magazine to her team of budding Khmer journalists. She has a lot to do between now and June, so pray that God gives her the strength and grace she needs.
Love to you and your families. Alla beydu jam.
Posted by sahelsteve at February 25, 2007 10:56 AM