the delicacy of their mission, they were not about to lift the lid on the white community in Nairobi, et cetera. Woodrow in return pledged the cooperation of his staff and all appropriate facilities, amen. The officers promised to keep Woodrow abreast of their investigations, so far as this was compatible with their instructions from the Yard. Woodrow genially pointed out that they were all serving the same Queen; and if first names were good enough for Her Majesty, they were good enough for us.
“So what's Justin's job description here in the High Commission then, Mr. Woodrow?” Rob the boy asked politely, ignoring this call to intimacy.
Rob was a London marathon runner, all ears and knees and elbows and true grit. Lesley, who could have been his smarter elder sister, carried a useful bag which Woodrow facetiously imagined to contain the things Rob needed at the trackside—iodine, salt tablets, spare laces for his running shoes—but which actually, so far as he could see, contained nothing but a tape recorder, cassettes and a colorful array of shorthand pads and notebooks.
Woodrow affected to consider. He wore the judicious frown that told you he was the professional. “Well, he's our in-house Old Etonian for a start,” he said, and everybody enjoyed this good joke. “Basically, Rob, he's our British representative on the East African Donors' Effectiveness Committee known otherwise by the acronym EADEC,” he went on, speaking with the clarity owed to Rob's limited intelligence. “The second E was originally for ”Efficacy“ but that wasn't a word many people were familiar with round here, so we changed it to something more user-friendly.”
“It does what, this committee?”
“EADEC is a relatively new consultative body, Rob, based here in Nairobi. It comprises representatives of all donor nations who provide aid, succor and relief to East Africa, in whatever form. Its members are drawn from the embassies and high commissions of each donor; the committee meets weekly and renders a fortnightly report.”
“To?” said Rob, writing.
“All member countries, obviously.”
“On?”
“On what the title says,” said Woodrow patiently, making allowances for the boy's manners. “It fosters efficacy, or effectiveness, in the aid field. In aid work, effectiveness is pretty much the gold standard. Compassion's a given,” he added with a disarming smile that said we were all compassionate people. “EADEC addresses the thorny question of how much of each dollar from each donor nation actually reaches its target, and how much wasteful overlap and unhelpful competition exists between agencies on the ground. It grapples, as we all do, alas, with the aid world's three R's: reduplication, rivalry, rationalization. It balances overheads against productivity and—” the smile of one bestowing wisdom—“makes the odd tentative recommendation, given that—unlike you chaps—it has no executive powers and no powers of enforcement.” A gracious tilting of the head announced the little confidence. “I'm not sure it was the greatest idea on earth, between ourselves. But it was the brainchild of our very own dear Foreign Secretary, it sat well with calls for greater transparency and an ethical foreign policy and other questionable nostrums of the day, so we pushed it for all it was worth. There are those who say the U.n. should do the job. Others say the U.n. already does it. Others again say the U.n. is part of the disease. Take your pick.” A deprecating shrug invited them to do just that.
“What disease?” said Rob.
“EADEC is not empowered to investigate at field level. Nevertheless, corruption is a major factor that has to be costed in as soon as you start to relate what is spent to what is achieved. Not to be confused with natural wastage and incompetence, but akin to them.” He reached for a common man's analogy. “Take our dear old British water grid, built 1890 or thereabouts. Water leaves the
“So what's Justin's job description here in the High Commission then, Mr. Woodrow?” Rob the boy asked politely, ignoring this call to intimacy.
Rob was a London marathon runner, all ears and knees and elbows and true grit. Lesley, who could have been his smarter elder sister, carried a useful bag which Woodrow facetiously imagined to contain the things Rob needed at the trackside—iodine, salt tablets, spare laces for his running shoes—but which actually, so far as he could see, contained nothing but a tape recorder, cassettes and a colorful array of shorthand pads and notebooks.
Woodrow affected to consider. He wore the judicious frown that told you he was the professional. “Well, he's our in-house Old Etonian for a start,” he said, and everybody enjoyed this good joke. “Basically, Rob, he's our British representative on the East African Donors' Effectiveness Committee known otherwise by the acronym EADEC,” he went on, speaking with the clarity owed to Rob's limited intelligence. “The second E was originally for ”Efficacy“ but that wasn't a word many people were familiar with round here, so we changed it to something more user-friendly.”
“It does what, this committee?”
“EADEC is a relatively new consultative body, Rob, based here in Nairobi. It comprises representatives of all donor nations who provide aid, succor and relief to East Africa, in whatever form. Its members are drawn from the embassies and high commissions of each donor; the committee meets weekly and renders a fortnightly report.”
“To?” said Rob, writing.
“All member countries, obviously.”
“On?”
“On what the title says,” said Woodrow patiently, making allowances for the boy's manners. “It fosters efficacy, or effectiveness, in the aid field. In aid work, effectiveness is pretty much the gold standard. Compassion's a given,” he added with a disarming smile that said we were all compassionate people. “EADEC addresses the thorny question of how much of each dollar from each donor nation actually reaches its target, and how much wasteful overlap and unhelpful competition exists between agencies on the ground. It grapples, as we all do, alas, with the aid world's three R's: reduplication, rivalry, rationalization. It balances overheads against productivity and—” the smile of one bestowing wisdom—“makes the odd tentative recommendation, given that—unlike you chaps—it has no executive powers and no powers of enforcement.” A gracious tilting of the head announced the little confidence. “I'm not sure it was the greatest idea on earth, between ourselves. But it was the brainchild of our very own dear Foreign Secretary, it sat well with calls for greater transparency and an ethical foreign policy and other questionable nostrums of the day, so we pushed it for all it was worth. There are those who say the U.n. should do the job. Others say the U.n. already does it. Others again say the U.n. is part of the disease. Take your pick.” A deprecating shrug invited them to do just that.
“What disease?” said Rob.
“EADEC is not empowered to investigate at field level. Nevertheless, corruption is a major factor that has to be costed in as soon as you start to relate what is spent to what is achieved. Not to be confused with natural wastage and incompetence, but akin to them.” He reached for a common man's analogy. “Take our dear old British water grid, built 1890 or thereabouts. Water leaves the
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