With a pair of tweezers, the governor of the State Bank of Pakistan (SBP) conveyed the corpse to a litter bin. ‘Well, that’s that,’ he said. ‘We are officially bankrupt. So, what do we do now?’ PM and SBP turned to ISI, because both knew, as did everyone else in the country, that it was he who called the shots. Brow corrugated in thought, ISI said, ‘What about asking our old buddy, China, to bail us out?’
SBP shook his head gloomily. ‘I’m afraid that won’t wash. They’re hard up as well, what with having given a bunch of loans to Sri Lanka, which has now gone belly up and can’t repay them.’
PM chimed in. ‘What about the Yanks? They’re always a soft touch so long as we keep making all the right noises about having their backs in smoking out those guys in black hoods carrying AK-47s.’
ISI poured cold water on the proposal. ‘I’m afraid that’s a no-go. That chap in the White House has just got his plan passed to spend $370 billion on some weird thing called ‘climate change’, and something else even weirder called ‘healthcare’. I’m afraid there’s not going to be much left in Uncle Sam’s kitty to spare for us.’
The three pondered this state of affairs. That was the trouble with the Yanks. Always going off on some whacko tangent, like this climate change, or healthcare, or human rights, or whatever, ignoring the realities of life. And one of those realities was inflation and what it was doing to the wage bill that the country had to foot, and which was increasing every day, what with the JUJ (Joint Union of Jihadis) not only demanding an increase in basic pay, but also double overtime plus a special occupational hazard allowance. Where was all the money to come from?
‘Where is all the money to come from?’ asked ISI, putting words to their common thought.
‘Rwanda,’ said the teaboy who had come in bearing a tray with tea and biscuits.
‘Rwanda? What’s that?’ said ISI who, apart from knowing where something called the LoC was, had a hazy knowledge of geography.
‘It’s a country in Africa,
. More specifically, East Africa,’ supplied the teaboy, an alumnus of Harvard.
‘So, what’s this Rwanda place got to do with us and our financial problem?’ interjected SBP.
‘Rwanda might help us solve our financial problem, hazoor,’ continued the teaboy. ‘There is a proposal that the British government will send illegal immigrants in Britain to Rwanda, which will be given an upfront compensation package of £120 million, with further tranches to be paid over the next five years.’
‘So you mean…?’ began PM.
‘Exactly so, hazoor, what Rwanda can do we can do better. We can strike a similar deal with not just Britain but also with the US, and Canada, and Australia, and any other country that has a problem of unauthorised immigrants.’
‘Wow! That sounds like money for murabba!’ said ISI who liked to air his grasp of idiomatic English usage.
‘And the best part, hazoors, is that many of these unauthorised immigrants are likely to be from our country itself, and will be only too amenable to be returned – under assumed identities and through discreetly unobserved channels, of course – to sender, so to speak, giving us a regular revenue stream in perpetuity,’ explained the teaboy.
‘Open sesame!’ exclaimed SBP.
‘This is more inventive than a perpetual motion machine!’ exclaimed PM.
‘Better! It’s a perpetual motion mint, back-to-back migration!’ exclaimed ISI.
‘Better still, it’s Pak-to-Pak migration,’ said the teaboy, having the last word as always.