The Brown Envelope

Is bribery really a sinister word or is it a word that has been taken
out of context, thrown in the gutters and vilified? According to my
understanding, bribery is something along the lines of: “receiving
cash or gifts to influence or change one’s mind to make a decision
favourable to the bribe giver.”

When I was still living in England, bribery stories were not as rife
as they are here in Uganda. That is not to say that it did not happen.
It did but perhaps it was either not as rampant as it is here or the
people involved were very careful so as not to get caught. And
throughout my working career there, I personally never saw a bribe
going down or was offered a bribe or took one.

Then I came back to the land of sin. It was the year that Kabaka
Ronald Mutebi, had finally decided to get married and then the country
was focused on one thing – the royal wedding. I had just started
working for private television company as a producer of a show called
Showtime Magazine when we went to Bulange to film and do some
interviews on the wedding preparations.

Bulange was no longer Bulange. Rather it looked like some form of
currency centre for the amount of cash that was being donated by
individuals and companies for the wedding was a sight to behold.
Sitting in the office of the then Katikkiro, wave after wave of people
walked in to give their donations and all in cash and in all in brown
envelopes. Not white or blue ones, but always brown ones.

At that time The Rock Bar was the place to hangout. It was ‘IN’, it
was new and it was hip. Ali Daya who ran the place was a close friend
who invited me out to lunch one hot Thursday. Over lunch it was small
talk until the conversation went on to the upcoming wedding. Daya
wanted to make a contribution of sorts but on Showtime Magazine. But
what he had in mind looked more like an advert for which he would have
to pay for but seeing that he was a close friend, I told him that I
could film his idea in such a way that it would look more like a five
minute documentary than an advert.

So a few days later I went to work and sure enough, when the five
minute ‘documentary’ aired a few weeks later, it did come across as a
documentary rather than an advert. Nobody at the station raised
eyebrows and life went on.

Daya was so pleased with his ‘documentary’ that he again invited me
out for dinner and drinks. And YES I did accept. At the end of dinner
and as I got ready to leave he held me back saying he had something
for me. Going into his jacket, he fished out an envelope and thrust it
into my hand. And it was a brown envelope. But call me naive, but
honestly I had no idea what I had just accepted and nor did I bother
to peer into it. It was only we I got back to work and at my desk
ripped open the envelope to find wads of cash - Sh3m to be precise.
“Jesus Christ!” I said to myself before quickly stuffing the envelope
into my desk. Of course I did call Daya to tell him that there had
been a miscommunication and that I had done him a favour and no cash
payment was required. “Keep it TB, keep it. It is yours to spend” he
said.

Had I just been compromised? Had I just taken a bribe? Will I get
caught and be carted off to Luzira? Wrapped in guilt coupled with the
fear of getting caught, I left the envelope locked up in my desk for
almost a week until the sh*t hit the fan.

The stations marketing manager called me to his desk and as we talked,
he said he wanted to review the Showtime Magazine show that contained
the Daya documentary. At the end of the review he asked what was wrong
with it. “Nothing” I replied. “But TB, sort of see an advert in the
show. Was it paid for? In my records I don’t see any payment.” He then
added: “Listen you just come clean to me. I will protect you for if
the owner of the station finds out what you did, he is going to fire
you.”

But I wasn’t bribed I told him. “All he did was buy me dinner and
drinks, plus sh3m as a thank-you” I told him. Looking at me he
replied: “So in addition to accepting sh3m you also accepted dinner
and drinks? Just go bring the money, I will log it in and that will be
the end of the matter.”

Relieved I literally ran to my desk, got the sh3m and handed it over
to Marketing Manager. At least I still have a job. That afternoon I
was back at Marketing Manager’s desk but this time for a different
reason. As we talked, his take-away lunch from Bon Apetite was
delivered and when he paid, the money came from the envelope that
contained the sh3m I had given him earlier. And over the next couple
of days, whenever he had to pay for anything, he would dip his hand
into ‘my sh3m’.

Excuse me, but had I been played? Of course I had and it was confirmed
by a colleague I confided in. Marketing Manager so he told me is
sharp. “Give him an inch and he will take a mile.”

Years later and after we had both left the station, I brought it up
when I met him in Club Silk and this is what he had to say: “TB you
were green! As soon as I saw that documentary I knew Ali Daya must
have given you some dime. It was all a question of how to fleece it
out of you but thanks mate. By the way, remember that fancy watch I
used to wear – the one that you liked? Well it is amazing what sh3m
can buy!”