Bertie’s taxpayer slip-up, I presume

IT WAS near the spot where the intrepid Stanley finally found Dr Livingstone, but it would be wrong to presume the Taoiseach had similar good fortune locating his tax clearance certificate.

An unfortunate choice of phrase while thanking aid workers seemed to throw his financial position at home into even more confusion.

“I say this on behalf of taxpayers, not for myself,” he announced, leaving it ambiguous as to whether the latter was part of the former.

Bertie of Africa had made it as deep into the interior as the Great Lakes, and with the luck of the Irish bumped into charming nun Ester Murray from his home patch of Drumcondra.

It was difficult not to conclude the meeting was far more enjoyable than when the Tanzanian prime minister effectively gate-crashed the Taoiseach’s DC-9 — BertForceOne — insisting he and his entourage would also like a day trip to Lake Victoria.

The atmosphere on board was noticeably stiffer than on the jaunt up from South Africa, maybe due to the fact the PM’s presence meant Bertie had to abandon plans to go casual and suffer the sweltering heat in a suit and tie.

The heavy-handedness of Edward N Lowassa’s staff did not help either and led to some moments worthy of Little Britain’s PM-obssessed Sebastian as staff for the two leaders jostled to ensure their man got the best spot.

By the end of the trip Mwanza’s rundown little airstrip was hosting an embarrassment of power-brokers as the Tanzanian president’s plane was forced to land there too after being rerouted by bad weather.

The VIP lounge seemed stretched to break point, the only clue this was indeed the VIP lounge were the words “VIP lounge” written in pen on a piece of cardboard.

A final piece of diplomatic awkwardness came when the Taoiseach was asked to take a member of the president’s party suffering from malaria back to Dar es Salaam. It was an offer he clearly could not refuse.

However, the day had been another impressive showcase of how Irish aid can reach into the most despairing of places.

Dubliner Fr Tony Gill has been helping the local people here for 40 years.

Fr Gill’s family founded Gill’s pub near Croker and Ahern, never a great traveller, sighed as he thought of swapping deepest Africa for home.

“If we were coming out of Croke Park we could go to Gill’s for a pint,” he marvelled as Lake Victoria glistened behind him.

Fr Patrick O’Rourke, who has worked here for more than 16 years, described what Fr Gill does well: “He literally builds bridges. Tony helps the local people improve their infrastructure and we put the money from Irish Aid to good use.”

Dr Livingstone’s disappearance was the subject of fevered newspaper speculation. By 1871 reporter Henry Stanley was dispatched by the New York Herald to find the missionary. Mr Stanley’s article began “Dr Livingstone, I presume?”

Unfortunately, Dr Livingstone failed in his ambition to find the source of the Nile. And history looks on impatiently as Mr Ahern presumes to find the source of his latest woes, that damned little tax cert.