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Ithink it’s fair to expect every discerning individual in this country of Eswatini to be sick to death, learning from the auditor-general’s (AG) numerous reports of money unaccounted for in public agencies of His Majesty’s Government. The AG appears to be doing a good job. But is the public then fully informed by those public agencies of the accountability obtained from those responsible? Not with the urgency and publicity to which the general public is entitled. If I’m wrong, then let’s see government publish a schedule of financial shortfalls, the outcome of investigations and personal accountability imposed. Wishful thinking?

To be fair, I’ve encountered, in numerous countries, the reluctance of companies and governments to attach too much publicity to the outcomes of substantial frauds and other corrupt activities by those entrusted with shareholders’ or public funds respectively. There’s no appetite for bringing the really big frauds out into the public domain; simply because of the inevitable public conclusion of chronically poor internal controls being there in the first place. And don’t forget, government money is public money, meaning it’s owned by, and thus stolen from, the public.

Lutfo Dlamini, the Ndzingeni MP, recently suggested that civil servants were ‘getting rich’, when

WHEN I was five I slipped a jade bangle off the shelf at our local general dealer store and hid it under my jersey. It was too big for my chubby little wrist, but I loved the way the green shades of emerald, sage, kale, celery and celadon danced together, rising like whisps of smoke from the smooth surface. The bangle was alive; I was entranced.

I knew it was wrong to take it. After all, I hid it inside my sleeve away from view, but the temptation was too great. And then something happened that created an emotion that has stayed with me all my life. I was rumbled by my razor-eyed mother who, when she found the stolen piece of jewellery, with the price tag still attached, had my dad turn the car around. She marched me back into the store.

Charmain stole this, she told Mr A, who shook his head and looked sad. He, who always handed me a lollipop with a wink when I was in his store; he who called me ‘little angel’ and ruffled my curly hair. I had let him down and they, all the adults, were deeply disappointed in me.

Did Mr A want to call the police? My mother was in a point-making mood. To avoid being reported to the law, I was to apologise and make a solemn promise never again to take anything that did not belong to me; or to lie. To this day I can still feel the deep sense of shame; the intense discomfort of embarrassment.

Have I been true to my promise to my mother? Have I always been utterly truthful? I have not. I am he drew attention to the E151.6 million of drugs missing in public health facilities around the country. Another MP referred to health workers, including at least one doctor, all employed by government and operating private pharmacies. That’s a red flag. So what do you do? As a very urgent priority government has to improve the internal control and audit systems. Then it must investigate the financial deficits, proceeding expeditiously to public resolutions in all cases. Those private operators must provide the records of drugs sold, and where they got them from in the first place. Proven theft must be immediately prosecuted, and in the absence of direct evidence of theft, but with no adequate evidence of acquiring the drugs honestly, then the trading licence must be removed. The deterrent will be created as the word and the investigations spread.

Confirms

And how do you investigate allegations of corruption in the context of such discrepancies? Well, that’s what the Anti-Corruption Commission (ACC) is for. An allegation is made, the ACC confirms the potential veracity of it and then gets to work on the investigation. Oh, but terribly sorry, there aren’t any ACC investigations today following the pronouncement around six years ago by the chief justice, that the investigative procedures of the ACC conflicted with the provisions of the national Constitution of 2005. So what do you do? Well, it’s simple. You either change the procedures of the ACC or you change the Constitution. And what has been done in the six years since this pronouncement? It sits on appeal in the Supreme Court with the grass growing through.

When you consider the amount of money that is said by the AG to be unaccounted for – in all likelihood stolen rather than recording errors – and in the absence of the ACC, you could employ the best an African; we are a lawless lot. We lie and cheat and scam systems. We do not obey the law. Worse, we flout the rules. We cock a snook at the law and laugh out the side of our faces when we get away with something.

Lying is common among children. Most parents would respond like my mother because they want to raise children who become honest adults. Most African parents think that is what they are doing. But our lawlessness is ingrained; grown-ups are not good role models for children because we condone the breaking of the law, and we shrug at the skirting of the rules.

Obey

This was never more clear to me than when I was in Germany on holiday for most of December and January. People obey the rules. They wait for the light to turn green before switching street sides at robots. Pedestrians do not cross in the middle of the street. Really, never.

On the train in Berlin, I sat opposite my friend who first gently reminded me that wearing a mask on the train was mandatory before asking me to move seats as I was sitting in a seat reserved for the infirm. But we’re in an empty carriage, I protested. It’s the law, she said. She paid for parking – for one hour – in a deserted lot, in a deserted town.

Buses and trains work on an honour system where it is assumed that you will buy a ticket. Nobody checks on whether you are compliant. Of course, if an inspector were to find you without a ticket, the independent auditors for forensic audits where the audit fees would be tiny compared with the massive loss of resources that is being reported. And, even better, government should employ independent external auditors to supervise a national programme of continuous internal audits in public sector agencies. You’ll save a fortune.

We don’t know the extent of the naked theft and other forms of corruption, but we are seeing these massive discrepancies, with an emasculated ACC looking at hundreds of unprosecuted, and suspected-as-corrupt individuals, simply escaping prosecution. And what about the Statute of Limitations? Keep the case non-prosecuted for six years and the indictment falls away? Let’s hear about it.

Awaiting

And how many serious criminal cases – murder rape or armed robbery – are also awaiting prosecution? The word on the street is that it runs into hundreds; where the indictment had been drawn up, but the prosecutions have not yet taken place; hundreds. Is that correct? There’s surely no motive for that number being made up. Individual emaSwati should ask their current and aspiring MPs; “What are you going to do about it?” Justice delayed is justice denied. The Ministry of Justice should provide a clear answer. Are all these people – accused of murder, rape or armed robbery – going to face justice; with the victims getting justice?

I like to keep my articles relatively light-hearted, and inform with a bit of fun attached. But this issue of national corruption makes me angry because we had the opportunity in 1998 to do what Botswana did – hire someone ‘big’, independent, unafraid and, of course, expensive, to head it up. He launched hundreds of cases in his first year; imagine the deterrent effect. But we didn’t want to pay someone as much. Look how much we’ve lost since then. And what message does it send out to the average liSwati? It says – go and steal your heart out. You won’t face justice because there is no justice. If I’m talking rubbish, please tell me publicly. Then prove that you resolved the judicial backlog equitably, and I will apologise; on my knees.

penalty is prohibitively hefty. One of the things that become evident is that everyone polices you. Your neighbours complain if you put your rubbish bins out on the street too early; they remonstrate if you don’t pick up your dog mess; they shout at you if you cross at a red light; they make sure you are in the right lane at the supermarket.

Africans find it annoying to be told what to do. In South Africa a friend whose son failed his driver’s test three times put R500 cash in her son’s palm for the inspector. He passed. Many people share the same password to subscriber-based networks. We are not above bribing corrupt traffic officials who ask for ‘a cold drink’ to avoid a fine. We’re venal, corruptible and lawless. And yet, we are surprised and enraged when we hear that the country is being held to ransom by cartels who have so deeply invaded our public entities’ systems. The corruption is so deeply ingrained that I am stumped to come up with a way of how to reverse it.

The point is this; we have to up our game, on a micro-level as well as in a wider context. When the law says wear a seatbelt (my note to myself), wear a seatbelt. When Netflix says a subscription is for one household’s use, don’t share your password with half a dozen friends. Don’t pay bribes. If we clean up our act and begin to put a value on honesty – and trust in the law – we might begin to see a monumental shift in morality. Why? Because that will mean that those operating at the lowest levels – whom the bigwigs rely on to make the chain of corruption work – will refuse to be a part of the greater corruption that goes on up the ladder. It is the small cogs in the wheel that make the cartels operate efficiently.