A South African Tale: Skroplap’s Story

*a “Skroplap” is Afrikaans slang for the dirtiest dishcloth of them all, the one that is used to clean the messiest mess.

I first noticed “Skroplap” as he strolled easily into the MDs office in the middle of our meeting. Skroplap took the contents of the MDs “Out” tray and left as unobtrusively as he had arrived. The conversation didn’t skip a beat and neither was the subject changed.

Later on towards the end of the day, I saw Skroplap again, talking with the receptionist. He was all smiles and, to my surprise, addressed me by name, even though I’d never met him before.

“Hi – I’m Philemon the messenger boy! But they don’t call me Philemon around here – there call me Skroplap”

“Skroplap – why such a name?” I asked – Skroplap is Afrikaans for the dirtiest of dishrags

“Because I don’t have to deliver messages all day so sometimes have spare time. And when people see me not doing anything, they get me to do their dirty work” Laughed Skroplap

“So I’m part of the furniture here – I was here when this company started and the company will be here when I end!” he grinned, gold implants gleaming off his front teeth

We were involved in culture and values consulting project at a 100+ employee organisation consisting of mainly professionals – Architects, Engineers and Financial People mostly. Our work involved running face-to-face interviews and focus groups with a sample of organisational players. The MD, naturally, wanted to know what everyone thought of him. Everyone else was experiencing the pains of runaway success, business growth and organisational politicking between “clans” or architects and engineers, each clan respectively wanting either an architect to remain as MD or an engineer to take over.

I spent a week interviewing seven executives in face-to-face sessions lasting up to 4 hours each. Because of the polarisation created by the leadership battle, conversations were generally emotionally charged. And whenever anyone came into the interiew space, the conversation was either stopped or the topic changed until whomever had arrived was gone. Everyone, except Skroplap.

Skroplap would move like a shadow between offices, delivering and picking up documents . He was mostly unobserved, as he said “A piece of the furniture”. Sometimes, Skroplap would hang around shuffling papers, refill the “In Tray” and leave as silently and invisibly as he had arrived.

One lunch time, I went down to the canteen. It was just getting on for the end of lunchtime and there I saw Skroplap waving at me.

“So how did the interviews go?” He asked as I sat down

“Well, I don’t think the interviews would be complete without interviewing YOU because, as you told me, you’ve been here since the beginning and I’m sure you have good stories to tell!” I said

“Who wants to know what an old messenger boy thinks? ” He complained with a broad smile.

He didn’t protest too much, though, and agreed to be interviewed the next day in the canteen since he didn’t have an office.

In the interview, I became increasingly astonished at Philemon’s deep knowledge about life in general and the company in particular. He hand an amazing grasp of the political machinations at play and the various characters involved. He knew when someone was in a bad mood and would broadcast this through “my network”. He knew there was a challenge to the MDs leadership from the clan of the engineers. He knew the ringleaders. He know the “dark side” of the company’s history.

Skroplap had dreams. He wanted to become a farmer but, at the age of 64 and only ever being a “messenger boy” and working in counterintelligence in Cuba during the Anti-Apartheid struggle, he’d have to wait for another year before he could retire, THEN he could go farming”

I found the interview with Skroplap to be one of the most interesting and entertaining that I’d ever done. He was a great raconteur, often punctuating his stories with great belly-laughs. He had the lowest position in the company and knew everyone yet hardly anyone knew him as other than Skroplap.

The week later, the leadership battle had been decided. The engineers were repulsed and the MD, an architect, had been re-elected by the board. Everyone was relieved. The MD was far more relaxed than before, the engineers were sour but hey, they were in the minority anyway.

In my meeting with the MD where I presented our project report, Skroplap walked in. Like the MD, he was very relaxed.

“Can I get you anything, Bob?” Asked Skroplap calling the MD by his first name

The MD got up from his chair walked over to Skroplap and put his arm around his shoulder.

“I couldn’t have done any of this without Skroplap” Said Bob, breezily next to a grinning Skroplap.

I thought initially this was some kind of corporate PR show on the part of the MD, demonstrating how much he values everyone and so on. So when I next saw Skroplap in the canteen sorting out documents, I went to him.

“So you have a great relationship with the MD it seems?” I quizzed

“Yes”, Skroplap said “When I was in Cuba both me and Bob were there at the same time, and we became friends. He was 10 years younger than me and I was his superior and mentor in counterintelligence. In Cuba we planned to overthrow the government, now I’m his messenger boy and his golf caddy” he laughed

“You’re his golf caddy?” I asked

“Yes, Bob and me get together most saturdays for golf followed by Cuban cigars and rum in the evenings. It’s one of the vices we share”

“And what do you and Bob talk about?”

“Ah, just life, the old days and corporate strategy!” gleamed Skroplap proudly with a distinctive wink.

Skroplap retired last year and now has a spinach farm in the North West owned 50/50 with Bob, his business partner. Bob remains MD of the company. Skroplap’s Nephew, Thabo has now taken over Skroplap’s old job as “Messenger Boy”.

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