THE chief executive officer at the international institution where I worked for a long time and enjoyed some of the most interesting adventures, one JJ Chilalamumpoto does not enjoy duties outside the office.
He loves duties that occur in his office.  You cannot fault his administrative abilities.  The man is simply astute.  He is also most affable and has time even for the least of humans who wants his attention.
You are by now aware how this contrasts sharply with his head of administration and human resources, Mr Paul Mabesere.
The latter is a disappointment who is so self-centred and would rather find fault than take an opportunity to develop you.
He is mostly an unpleasant terror that you sometimes avoid meeting along the corridors, opting to disappear into the first or nearest door, be it a kitchen or office or storeroom whenever you see him approaching from the opposite direction.
Eish!  How does it feel really to know that people, your own workmates, either fear or hate you so much they disappear into the nearest hole at your sight?  I would change.
Dexter Kabotolo, like anybody else, detests it when he has to drive Mr Mabesere to any place for official duties.  Fortunately, both JJ Chilalamumpoto and Mr Mabesere rarely undertake duties that require them to travel out of town!
I am imagining what a horror it would be to travel to Mansa on a five day mission, driving the terror called Paul Mabesere around.  You would get rebuked so many times you probably would miss one turn and roll over.
Over this long weekend, Dexter was requested outside his working hours to drive JJ Chilalamumpoto on some private errands and he would be paid from the boss’ pocket his full entitlements as per the institutional standards.
Dex knew pretty well that that meant at a certain point, the boss expected he would get too drunk to drive himself safely home.
He also intimated that as a senior as he was, he had become so wary of being stopped by an officer from RTSA, being tested for alcohol content, finding his blood literally swimming in beer, and then being taken to the fast track court at the Civic Centre, being found guilty and his name published in the newspapers as a drunk-driving convict!
His bosom friend was still feeling embarrassed that he had been caught in such and of all the people, his Bishop, to whom he had always pretended he didn’t drink, yes, he that he was a teetotaler had been the first to read this information in the Sunday Times of Zambia and was not least amused.
In his usual comical fashion, Dex narrated how he knowingly would embark upon a mission where he would drive the boss around to some private functions, watch the boss get drunk (but because of his good nature, JJ, Dex would also be receiving his more than fair share of intoxicants) and by the time of leaving, there would be two drunks in the same vehicle, including the one driving.
“Ine ndine choyofyela ma bwana (I’m the scarecrow to put off the police),” he screamed laughing.  “Boss afuna kugulisa ine bagwililemo ine banipoke license ati nezoyenza motoka chokolewa aini (the boss wants to sacrifice me as the one involved in drunken driving and I lose my driving license)!”
I reminded him that as long as he didn’t do anything extraordinary, as he was often apt to do, JJ’s fears were unfounded as security agents tended to respect vehicles with diplomatic number plates like the one Mr Chilalamumpoto drove.
“Just make sure you or JJ are not sitting on the bonnet or half protruding through the windows of the car and dancing like an exited party cadre!” I advised.  “Even if the boss gets so drunk he urinates in his trousers, you should be able to drive past all police or RTSA road blocks.”
Of course one thing about Dexter Kabotolo is that he never looks drunk.  He can drink an entire drum of Chibuku alone and still walk straight, drive perfectly well and never show any signs that any of his major mental faculties are badly affected by overindulgence in alcohol consumption except, to those who know him, he begins to taunt and tease.
The boss just had to be prepared to be teased.  Dex loves teasing when he is drunk.  And that’s the only fear they should have: that perhaps he would stop uninvited by a road block and tell the RTSA guys one or two unkind or unbecoming things!
I remember how he once told traffic officers in Mwense, while under the influence of alcohol, if he could pay them enough bribes for a week so that for once poor farmers and pirate taxis could drive into town uninterrupted and also make some money!
“Daily ukati upangeko ka K50, uona chee tusote twa white pa road monga ba kakowa kandalama kamene wagulisa tomato konse mu thumba ya bwana (Each day you want to make a K50, you suddenly see white caps on the road, like storks, the little money you made from selling tomatoes goes into the pockets of you bosses)!”
Naturally they were not impressed.  But he wasn’t cowed either and hadn’t said the last about them.
“Musaziganiza unga wanu cabe kukaca iyai.  Nabeve banzanu bali na ma madam na bana ku nyumba bayembekeza ma motoka yamene mugwila aya kuti babapangileko ma half badyeko sausage nebeve (Don’t just think about your own mealie meal every day. Even these colleagues whose vehicles you impound have got wives and children at their homes who look up to these vehicles to make a bit of money for them to afford sausages)!” he roared.
We were all the time trying to restrain him but his insistence on teasing the cops was fully indicative of how much he had imbibed.  We were told to park and get out.  He did park, and when out of the twin cab, towered above the two cops in the literal sense, giving each of them a pompous and disdainful look-over.
“Nalakwa kukuuzani kuti mufole ma half ya one week? (Have I made a mistake to tell you that I pay you money for a whole week)?” he bellowed with such self-conviction the cops were apparently getting confused and losing their confidence.
“Look you fellows. Me I am a Kwacha millionaire (he forked the entire remainder of his daily subsistence allowance, about K7,000, from his pocket and waved it in their faces) and I just want to be helpful by paying you in advance for other offenders!
In fact, you may end up with cash yamahala (free) if nobody comes this way driving a tomato van with tyres that wore out in 1979!
Me I wanted you to tell me how much you make per day here so I bloody pay you and stop embarrassing yourselves and my government!  You go back to your offices.  Instead mutwanga (instead you are arguing).”
We whispered so many things to Dex but this was vintage Dex, the real Kabotolo ‘zozzled’, ‘cut’, drunk to the limit!
“Anyway, you said I should get out, I am out, so talk fast because I am seeing your District Commissioner in the next 20 minutes.
I have a message straight from State House about marketeers’ loans.  If you want to interfere with this important national empowerment programme, please continue behaving like prison warders controlling a queue for nshima and beans.”
The unsettled officers said they had no issues with the vehicle as it obviously had everything in place but they would be happy to perform their national duties in a manner that we ourselves should be happy about and report at State House, so they needed to just be told when we arrived at the road block that we were from State House.  They would let us go.
“Do you want me to report you that you are taking bribes?” he persisted with his drunken postures.  “Should I tell the Head of State?  Iwe…!” he shouted across to a lone driver whose vehicle had been impounded. “Tell the truth, have these police not asked you to pay them money without giving you a receipt?”
“Boss, don’t…er…look sir, I have a family, I beg you but don’t do it this way…this is also my job…” mumbled one officer.
“Meaning what?” asked Dex sternly. “That you should steal and we let you free because you have a family?  Ok, this road block is over!  Off you go, if you don’t want trouble.”
There was hesitation and total confusion on the part of the cops.
“I said out!!” he ordered in a shrill scream. “Chosani tusote pa road (Take your caps off the road)!”
They started walking very, very awkwardly and looking very foolish to their vehicle.
“Iwe yenda (You also go),” to the driver of the impounded car.
Fortunately, this occurred on the eve of our departure from Mwense to Mwansabombwe.
My fear was that the cops, belittled and offended as they were might have later discover that Dexter Kabotolo was not even from State House, had no business with the District Commissioner or even loans for marketeers but was an impostor, a simple driver driving two imbeciles gathering information about the extent of maternal deaths due to limited health facilities in the area for an international NGO.
Dexter Kabotolo was just some nincompoop who unwittingly managed to use his drunkenness to get out of trouble and the cops, maybe because they knew they were up to no good at that road block, being shepherded off disgracefully!
Dex would therefore cope on the day, with an equally drunken JJ Chilalamumpoto.