Budget notes from the bathroom

HOME AFFAIRS

My household is run like a country — a country in which I have very little political control.

My wife is the government. She is the minister of finance and of home affairs, the minister in charge of visa issuing for when there are applications to travel outside our borders to have a few beers with the mates.

I am, at least, the minister of sport and recreation, a vitally important but not critical institution. My government would argue the position is merely ceremonial.

My role as minister includes, but is not limited to, finding weekend activity spots, nice places to eat and being the Google Maps user particularly when on trips at home and abroad. As I said, vitally important work.

Let it be noted that there was no election or public participation process in the doling out of domestic portfolios. But, because my wife reads this newspaper, I’m not going to say I live under a dictatorship.

Annually, over the week that the (real) finance minister delivers the budget speech in Parliament, I am reminded of my lesson in public (and domestic) finances and how easily it can go astray and be mismanaged.

You see, it wasn’t too long ago that I was taught the practical differences between wasteful and fruitless expenditure, and unauthorised and irregular expenditure.

These are terms often bandied about by the auditor general in relation to how taxpayers’ money is managed — or rather mismanaged.

In my home government I may not be the minister of public works, seeing to household infrastructure, but I am a dutiful and hardworking civil servant.

A light bulb needs replacing? I’m on it. The toilet blocked? I’m there with a plunger.

So, when it was time to redo our bathroom, my government and I decided that expense was not an issue, that high costs would mean quality work. This is where we got it all wrong.

First, the plumber, let’s call him Maanie, started late. There were delays upon delays. Just like Eskom’s Medupi and Kusile power plants, there were “construction and design flaws”.

A near labour revolt almost scuppered plans for our dream bathroom when Maanie had a dispute with one of his employees. And, to top it off, Maanie’s tacit racism and dog whistles when he spoke to us about the workers irked us to such an extent that we nearly cancelled the job all together.

When the project was finally completed, we thought that our construction ordeal was over at last. But, just over a year later — conveniently outside the one-year guarantee period — leaks started emanating from underneath the bathtub. It was a mess. It soaked the walls and leaked into the kitchen downstairs.

With thousands of rands spent on a project that now clearly didn’t benefit the people of this household, this was our lesson in wasteful and fruitless expenditure.

Noting this, wanting to impress my government, and maybe with the slight desire to assert some of my own political authority, this over-enthusiastic domestic servant said: “Dang it! Let’s get a new plumber in. He needs to do it now! I don’t care about the budget! He charges what!? Never mind. He just needs to get it done!”

And I would have done all this without following the proper tender procedures, inviting quotations, conducting a cost-benefit analysis and due diligence on the project. My attempted and flagrant flouting of proper procedure exposed my naivety and misunderstanding of our own domestic PFMA (Progamme for Matrimonial Accountability).

This would have been a perfect example of unauthorised and irregular expenditure.

My government swiftly and decisively intervened. And that’s why I’m not allowed to make the big decisions. My idea of wresting control of domestic affairs was dashed.

It is practical, domestic examples like these that can show the South African public and public representatives themselves how corruption and financial mismanagement can easily take root in key institutions if there aren’t enough safeguards and regulations.

Last year, the auditor general, Kimi Makwetu, reported that only 13% of South Africa’s municipalities received clean audits. That’s only 33 out of 257 across the country.

With local government being the primary access point for service delivery, particularly important for poor and working-class South Africans, it’s fundamentally clear how a more informed public can better hold their government accountable. Not only at the election booth, but with everyday activism.

In the meantime, there’ll be no elections any time soon in my household. Because my government says she’s working towards a better life for me.