The Minister, the Junior and the Case of the Missing Bonjour
A Comedy of Political Roles
By Plutonix
In an improbable corner of Port Louis, beneath a flamboyant tree and over a glass of alouda, the ancient Greek philosopher Socrates finds himself embroiled in a very modern Mauritian drama. What begins as a simple query about ministerial duties soon unravels into a spirited exchange on power, ego, WhatsApp etiquette, and the metaphysics of being “sidelined.”
Socratic – Women Handshake. Pic – istockphoto
When Junior Minister Anisthia publicly accuses her senior, Arianina, of neglect and political gaslighting, the island’s usual hush of protocol is broken. Enter Socrates — meddling with charm, guided by questions more potent than accusations. Alongside him, a cast of characters as vivid as any in a Greek chorus: Glaucus the civil servant, Hermes the nosy journalist disguised as foliage, and Kreola the market vendor whose mangoes and metaphors are equally sharp.
This dialogue, while humorous, lays bare the timeless tensions between ambition and authority, form and function, dignity and duty. In a system where titles often outrun substance and silence passes for decorum, Socrates holds up a mirror — cracked perhaps, but reflective nonetheless.
Let the courtyard debate begin.
Dramatis Personae:
* Socrates – The curious old philosopher, inexplicably in Mauritius
* Glaucus – A well-meaning civil servant
* Anisthia – A fiery young politician recently transferred from Gender Equality to Health
* Arianina – A senior Minister with a sense of protocol
* Hermes – A nosy journalist, disguised as a tree
* Kreola – A wise market vendor who’s seen it all
Socrates: Good day, Glaucus! You appear more wrinkled than usual. What news from the ministries?
Glaucus: Oh Socrates, it is chaos in our usually dignified corridors. Junior Minister Anisthia has publicly accused her senior, Arianina, of… how shall I say… oxygen-level dishonesty.
Socrates: My word! Did she say the Minister breathes lies?
Glaucus: Quite literally: “She lies as she breathes,” were her words. You see, Anisthia claims she was sidelined, ignored, not even granted a “bonjour”.
Socrates: A “bonjour” withheld? In France, that would qualify as psychological warfare. But tell me, what does a Junior Minister do, exactly?
Glaucus: According to our Constitution, she is to “assist the Minister.”
Socrates: “Assist”? A word as vague as a politician’s promise. Suppose I hand you a coconut and say, “assist it” — what would you do?
Glaucus: I suppose I’d ask it what it needs.
Socrates: And if it said, “Nothing, please leave me alone,” what then?
Glaucus: Then I’d sit quietly near it and hope for a miracle.
Socrates: Precisely what Anisthia did, it seems. Now, let us summon her, if she is not busy reorganising syringes at the Ministry of Health.
(Enter Anisthia, storming in like a cyclone named after herself.)
Anisthia: I was summoned?
Socrates: Only by truth, dear Anisthia. What afflicts you?
Anisthia: Eight months of nothingness. Not a single file. Not a single meeting. Not even a WhatsApp forward from Arianina. I had to post on Facebook to be heard!
Socrates: A grave step indeed. In Athens, we’d only post on Facebook to announce our engagement or a good tzatziki – you know, don’t you – the sauce recipe.
Anisthia: Take notes. Call crèches. Assist her senior advisor — who, by the way, gives the impression of running the entire Ministry like it’s a cake shop.
Socrates: So your tasks were administrative, not ministerial?
Anisthia: Precisely. And when I protested, I was painted as lazy. Overshadowing her, she apparently grumbled!
Socrates: Ah, the oldest tactic in the playbook. When a woman speaks her mind, she is not merely asserting herself, but ‘grumbling.’ When she excels, she is ‘overshadowing.’ This is not a new grievance, my friend. It seems the human heart, and the political arena, has changed little over the millennia. Anyway, that’s a curious charge. Did you bring an eclipse with you?
Anisthia: Only my competence.
(A sudden gust of incense. Arianina enters in full ceremonial dress, followed by two interns and a chihuahua.)
Arianina: I hear philosophy is being weaponized. I must defend myself.
Socrates: Welcome, Arianina. We are only seeking clarity — something rarely found in ministries. Tell us, why did you not assign tasks to your Junior Minister?
Arianina: But I did! I handed her four major files: adoption reform, domestic violence, crèches, and shelters. She dismissed them as “for civil servants.”
Anisthia: Lies! The only thing that reached my desk was a flyer on International Women’s Day.
Arianina: She avoided me since January! How can I assign files to a ghost?
Socrates: So we have a paradox: a Minister who claims she offered tasks, and a Junior Minister who says she received none. Tell me, Arianina, did you communicate these files in writing?
Arianina: No. We work on trust.
Anisthia: More like telepathy.
(From behind the flamboyant tree, Hermes the Journalist scribbles furiously.)
Hermes: “Ministers caught in metaphysical feud; tree overhears everything…”
Socrates: Let us ask: What does it mean to “assist”? If Glaucus assists me in writing this dialogue, but I give him no pen, can he be blamed?
Arianina: But a Junior Minister must show initiative!
Socrates: Ah! But not too much initiative, or else she overshadows the senior. It’s like asking a candle to light the room but not shine.
Kreola: In my stall, when someone comes to help, I give them a task. If they stand idle, it’s my fault, not theirs. Unless they eat all my mangoes.
Socrates: Wise Kreola! Now, dear Anisthia, did you attempt to mend the gap?
Anisthia: I went on leave. Then I waited. Then I posted.
Socrates: Social media: the last resort of the ignored.
Arianina: She wanted me to bow to her demands. I am the Minister!
Socrates: And yet, even kings must speak to their scribes. Tell me, were you both from the same party?
Anisthia: I am Labour.
Arianina: I am MMM.
Socrates: Ah, the plot thickens like rougaille left too long on the stove. Perhaps the Constitution should include not just duties but boundaries for egos. You are two women at the helm of a vital Ministry — surely this should be a sign of progress?
Kreola (the wise market vendor): Or of double the trouble, if pride gets in the way.
Arianina: This is not about pride.
Anisthia: It’s about dignity.
Socrates: And possibly a lack of WhatsApp messages. But let me ask you both: What is the purpose of governance?
Anisthia and Arianina: To serve the people.
Socrates: Yet here we are, arguing about who got to serve less. Perhaps we are in the wrong play entirely. Maybe this is a tragedy disguised as a sitcom.
Glaucus: So what now?
Socrates: Perhaps a new Ministry: The Ministry of Ministerial Relations. Staffed entirely by retired aunts who excel at patching quarrels with tea and sarcasm.
Hermes: Or we could just rename all Junior Ministers as “Assistant Ministers (With Feelings).”
Kreola: Or hire a goat to mediate. Goats have no ego. Just grass and wisdom.
Socrates: Indeed, the goat might be the wisest among us. But until the Constitution is rewritten, we must remember: Power without clarity is a recipe for conflict. And politics without humility is just theatre without a script.
(They all fall silent. The chihuahua sneezes.)
Mauritius Times ePaper Friday 8 August 2025
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