the move from cigarettes to cigars, the company had
done well, mainly as an exporter. Since Mr Malik had taken over the running of the firm
on his father’s death in 1964, it had continued to prosper. But about three years
ago Mr Malik began to notice orders drying up. The problem, as his daughter Petula soon
discovered, was China.
‘They are cutting into our markets,
Daddy. I’ve been looking into it – similar product, cheaper price. It’s the
labour costs, you see.’
‘But can’t we –?’
‘Improve our product? There’s
only so much you can do with rolled-up leaves, Daddy, and I think you’ll have to
agree that we’ve done it.’
‘What about –?’
‘Cutting costs? We can’t compete
on wages, so the only way we can cut costs is to improve efficiency. The only way we can
do that is to shed labour and invest in new plant.’
‘Shed labour? You mean, sack
people?’
At the last count the Jolly Man
Manufacturing Company had 132 people on the payroll, each of whom Mr Malik considered as
more or less part of his larger family.
‘Out of the question. Isn’t there
something else we can do?’
Petula thought.
‘What we might be able to do, Daddy
dear, is diversify.’
When four old but still serviceable
Brückner and Gabell confectionery production machines came up for a good price in
Kampala, Petula bought them and had them shipped by rail to Nairobi. The new venture
took off like a rocket.
Much of its success was due to Mr
Malik’s reputation. His staff liked him, his suppliers and distributors trusted
him. It was also due in large part to Petula’s inspired idea to use African animal
names for the new products. Although jelly babies have a worldwide following, what
African child could resist biting the head off a Jiant Jelly Jiraffe? And while
lollipops are lovely and gobstoppers are great, wouldn’t you rather get your
tongue to work on a Lion All-Day Licker or suck on an Elephant Ball (available in a
handy two-pack)?
And so the Jolly Man Manufacturing Company
began winding down its cigar operations and winding up production of bonbons.
9
The rhino eats the melon, but kills the
lion
‘Gentlemen, and ladies.’
Other than at the regular Sunday curry
tiffin, ladies were still an unusual sight at the Asadi Club. Tonight was an exception.
News of the Lord Erroll debate had spread and though it was being held on the evening
before the annual Asadi Club safari, the dining room was packed with members and their
wives. Even Petula, who never came to the club, had sounded interested but at the last
minute had phoned her father to say she wouldn’t be able to make it – another CI
meeting.
Tiger Singh stood. The room fell silent.
‘This is, as you know, an unusual
event. Tonight at the Asadi Club, rather than our usual lecture, we are going to examine
a crime. The crime is murder. This is not, of course, a trial – it is a debate between
two of our members, Mr Gopez and Mr Patel. But it is in many ways like a trial, with
you, ladies and gentlemen, as the jury. As in a court of law, you will not be called
upon to make a moral decision, though morality may well be discussed. You will be called
upon to make a decision of fact. Certain facts are undisputed, and I will outline them
shortly. Other facts are disputed, and I will allow the debaters themselvesto describe to you whichever of these they think you will find
pertinent.’
The Tiger adjusted his gold-framed
spectacles low on his splendid nose.
‘The people involved in the case are,
with one exception, now dead. No new witnesses will be called, no new evidence
presented. Such evidence as will be presented is in the public domain. I’m sure
many of you will be familiar with much, if not all, of it. Some of you may even have
formed your own judgement about the guilt, or innocence, of one or more of the parties
involved. Should you have done so,