The Customs Comptroller Who Was Held Up At The Borders

Zakari glared at his phone as it vibrated on the table right in front of him.  This was the third time it was pinging, yet he ignored it.

He was still seething from the aftermath of the meeting which he has recently dismissed

The monthly meeting of his regional Comptrollers – officers who controlled various ports across the country

This particular session turned out to have exhausted him emotionally in addition to its usual mental exhaustion

Both the ministers of Trade and Finance had read him an ultimatum during their meeting last week

An ultimatum which left him no choice – clean up your house or risk being tossed out with the bath water

Three of the core Commands under his jurisdiction were not turning in enough taxes – and two of them, headed by his own people

It didn’t help that these were two of the nation’s largest seaports.  Their projected monthly revenue were about six months income of some of the nation’s ports

Zakari had assigned them to his nephew and niece in a major shake up when he assumed office

One of the benefits of their cultural background is generic names.  Everyone, well, almost everyone goes by the same names anyway

That, made it difficult to find out who is related to whom. Good luck finding out if five of your colleagues who bear ‘Ibrahim’ are related to each other

This niece and nephew were some of his proteges whom he brought into the Customs over the years – he was settling his siblings by setting up their children – and that meant their financial burdens off his neck

Zak recalled the shock waves which rumbled through the organisation after their appointments – the outrage through the hierarchy because these were junior officers suddenly elevated above their seniors

Who were either redeployed or forced to retire. The beauty of nepotism.

It has been half a year and the government was losing money from both borders.

He had staved off the pressure so far from both ministries leveraging the benefit of his Old Boys Association and university Alumni. 

Finally, both caved under the immense pressure from the presidency and read him the riot acts

The riot acts which he spelt out at this morning’s meeting when he redeployed some of his Comptrollers.  Which included his nephew and niece.

Marching into his office, he ordered his aide to ensure no one entered his office. 

And after minutes of waiting in his lounge, some of the affected Comptrollers left

Suddenly, the shrill tone of his personal phone jerked him out of those thoughts.  It was Bilqis, his favourite daughter who was home from holidays

“Hello Jaan”

he used her pet name.  Then noticing the ruckus in the background and her agitated voice, he enquired

“Where are you Jaan?”

“Baba, I am home and your sisters are here”

“How many of them?” He asked in a steady voice which he didn’t feel.

“Four. And they are shouting at Ummi”

As if on cue, he heard his sister, Salma’s voice screeching……”That Gajere, so wicked to even himself that his body refused to grow with his age”

“Give Salma the phone” he barked at his daughter

“What are you doing in my house, harassing…….

But she interjected….

“Gajere, you dare take food out of my mouth? Are you not ashamed what you are doing to your own family members? Didn’t I tell you to give them more time or have you forgotten…..

Her son was the nephew that had been sacked.

Irritated by her use of the insult – Gajere meant shorty, a nickname which over the years Zakari assumed he has outrun thanks to his high standing in society

A nickname which none of his siblings has used against him for years

Gajere was the name he had been bullied with all through his growing up years and up to university

And so, as she hurled that taunt at him, his memories whirled – the pains, shame, slights and everything which that name represented

His late father’s voice rang out in his head.  It was he – a towering hunk of a man – who had thrown that slur for the first time at his 5 year old son

Zakari remembered it like yesterday. The first time his father jeered at him with the derogative. And afterwards how almost everyone else took up the nickname

From the home, it followed him to the playgrounds of the streets and schools. And blasted out a huge chunk of his self-esteem

The surging painful memories tried to burst through his heart as a text message pinged on his Work phone

“Congratulations. Meet us for lunch in an hour’s time at Millennium Restaurant”

It was the Minister of Trade.

Zakari noticed the unusually heavy traffic as his driver eased onto the street. This, was not the regular lunchtime traffic. The foot traffic surpassed the vehicles

He noticed that some of the vehicles were stationary and unmanned

“Saminu, what is going on?” The query was directed at his driver

“Sir, they say that man is in town and he is coming to this district”

“What man?” Zak sounded puzzled

“That new Influencer – the one who challenges the government with his teachings.  That one you constantly listen to”

“You mean The Radical?”

“Yes sir”

“Why did no one tell me? Where is he? How soon can we get to him?” Zakari was excited.  All earlier frustration seeping away

“The roads are blocked” Saminu heaved in resignation as he meandered the heavy vehicle off the major road, into an Appian way

That was also blocked so that about ten minutes later, Zakari alighted and began to walk.

Meandering through the crowd, in his uniform, drew attention and provided some traction. Yet, not everyone conceded passage to him.

Most recognised him. He was a despised public figure. A few took advantage of the proximity and hit out at him

His phone vibrated. It was the Minister calling back to cancel – he also was caught in the traffic

Elated, Zak burrowed into the crowd. Nonetheless, the line of human traffic was impenetrable

Using the power of uniform, he pushed but the crowd surged back. Scanning the perimeters, he noticed crowds standing by their balconies and on rooftops

Then an idea struck him

“A balcony. If I can get to a balcony or a rooftop”

He immediately grasped how hard the former would be. Who would let him into their house?

Leveraging again, the power of his uniform, he strode into a government establishment

Finally, Zakari was standing at the balcony of the 3rd floor and scanning the streets.  The buzz from the crowd was intensifying as necks craned and fingers pointed excitedly

Zakari saw him.  The Radical was simply clad in a tan jallabia with his signature-style sandals

He looked younger than Zakari envisaged as the crowd sucked him in

“The Radical” some children on the rooftops yelled ecstatically

He grinned his boyish grin as he waved back. Suddenly, his eyes caught Zakari – the short fat man in a Customs uniform – squashed behind a body of onlookers

“Come down” he pointed. And heads turned to see who he was calling

“The Customs Comptroller”

He motioned to Zakari.

Incredulously, Zak squeezed away from the balcony and scrambled into the lift

The stunned crowd made way for him as his feet shuffled forward

As he stretched his hand for a formal shake, The Radical drew him in for a hug as the crowd stared in consternation

“I am sorry. I will return all the excess taxes I forcibly…..

But The Radical cut him off….

“Let us go to your office”

Then as if by an unspoken command, the mass of bodies began to part as the tired Comptroller of Customs huffed and ambled with The Radical towards his office

“What about us?”

“We have been here all day and he singles out this corrupt Gajere man to visit”

“I am disappointed. If really The Radical is who they claim he is then he wouldn’t associate with this greedy and ruthless tax man”

Meanwhile, one of his mentees sidled closer and whispered,

“Master, the crowd is angry and disappointed”

“if only they knew that I came for such as this” The Radical waved at the crowd cheerily as he hurried off with Zakari

Did you enjoy this modern day adaptation of the biblical story of Zaccheus the tax collector and Jesus?

Would you want to read more of such adaptations?