Tender rigging is front and centre in the South African news often enough to put the fear of the omnipotent in anyone. The people involved appear distant, unreachable, untouchable – a bit like Hollywood – and a little too good to be true. So, when a renowned tenderpreneur crossed my path I became unyielding, clinging to my integrity for fear I may be corrupted or some dirt might stick, and of course I lost my sense of humour. In hindsight I am not sure who was more naïve, him or me?
An impressive list of people subscribed for a particular tender that I was administering. A few were already in the press for tender rigging and corruption. One stood out – head and shoulders above the rest. I resolved to remain impartial – innocent until proven guilty and all that jazz – but do some homework. Stories of his ability to access confidential information abounded. The mind boggled. I would have to strategize. I drew on years of James Bond movies, reread all the John le Carré novels in my collection, watched the Bourne Identity and Mission Impossible critically all over again, and replayed episodes of The Man from U.N.C.L.E. I was ready! And then he played his hand. What is it that all women want? Romance, money, power…
It started with dinners and expensive perfumes which were foisted on me despite great protestation and then quickly disposed of as if they were vials containing deadly viruses. When this didn’t work, he moved to plan B. He sent in his brothers to pose as bidders to secure the list of tenderers names. My team and I quickly picked up the common surname. It was going to take more than that to fool us. Beaten but not defeated he upped the ante. He was going to break the wall of silence. He asked another brother to send me lyrics of love songs via sms. I almost capitulated, but at the near-fatal hour, I came to my senses.
The tender closed and adjudication time was upon us. I moved the documents to a remote undisclosed location. We brought in the spooks. They swept the room for bugs (listening devices not creepy crawlies). At the end of every day I yanked a hair out of my head and placed it strategically against the door. Each morning I looked for it, to see if it was in the same place.
I can report with confidence there were no security breaches, he was not awarded a tender, he did not pass go, he did not collect two hundred rand, and yes, he went straight to jail. He still protests his innocence.