Mr Softie’s dolls

Let’s talk about dolls. Not those pink expensive figurines with shiny hair. But the shabby things mothers and grannies made with rags. It doesn’t matter if yours was a stick wrapped in old fabric. A doll was a doll. And every girl loved to have one. Perhaps it’s because it was one of the few things girls could fully control. No shared ownership or responsibility. They were girls’ things. But Muckraker suspects that Mr Softie secretly wished he had his own dolls instead of cars made of rusty wire. Which explains why he collected more than 20 dolls as soon as he became Prime Minister. Those dolls are called principal secretaries. And boy, he is playing with those dolls. It must be thrilling to have dolls that drive Toyota Lexus and earn M40 000 per month. Mr Softie takes pleasure in yanking his dolls around government offices. If he wakes up in a bad mood, he just reshuffles his dolls. He will move one from the Ministry of Trade to the Ministry of Drunk Diplomats (foreign affairs). From the Ministry of Makoenya (small businesses) to the Ministry of Fato-fato (forestry). From the police to agriculture. From transport to education. He will keep it that way for a few weeks until something irritates him again. Then he will shunt the dolls again. His timing is often impeccable, shoving the dolls around just as they are about to learn a thing or two about their assignments. It’s hilarious too because some PSs have lost count of the ministries they have managed in the past year. Of course, none of the dolls will raise a finger to protest. They know they serve at Mr Softie’s pleasure (and pressure) and were not hired on merit. Those who get jobs after being interviewed at political rallies, weddings or funerals must put up with the most demeaning treatment. So, after each round of what is essentially a pointless shoving of bearded men and breasted women, the dolls pretend to be enjoying their new assignments. Masquerading as chief accounting officers when they are counting the days before they are carted to the next ministry. Others have however become accustomed to being squatters in ministries. So, they don’t get too comfortable. Tired of being hauled around like bags of Itau, some of the dolls no longer bother to enter their new offices. They simply hang around the ministry’s reception area while waiting for something to irritate Mr Softie so that he can order them to report to the next destination. Some are now walking up and down Kingsway as they wait for Mr Softie’s whistle. He might just do it while he is in quarantine at his home. Some PSs might be moved if he sneezes three times. Just watch the space.