The Organ Grinder's Monkey

A riveting saga of deceit, scandal, sex, greed and power…

I've traveled all over the world. I've stayed in the best hotels and eaten in the best restaurants. But that isn't me. I'm a simple man. I have simple tastes and I live in a simple house. 

But people who knew of my past life still want to know . . . what's it like? What's it like to work for the richest family on earth, the Royal Family of Brunei? 

"Well they have money and they spend it," I answer...
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A riveting saga of deceit, scandal, sex, greed and power…

I've traveled all over the world. I've stayed in the best hotels and eaten in the best restaurants. But that isn't me. I'm a simple man. I have simple tastes and I live in a simple house. 

But people who knew of my past life still want to know . . . what's it like? What's it like to work for the richest family on earth, the Royal Family of Brunei? 

"Well they have money and they spend it," I answer them. I tire of the subject. I know once they get a taste of the story, the questions will keep coming.

"No," they answer. "That's not what I mean. What's it like to travel with the Royal Family? What are they like?"

How can I answer that? 

What are they like? They are one of the last true monarchies here on earth. They still rule with a word and with a wave of their hand, no different than they did centuries ago. I worked for a true monarchy, which could have been taken straight out of the movie, "The King and I".

There is not enough time in a day or even a week to tell them all there is to tell.       

Yet this story is true. It is no movie nor is it a fairy tale.

I lived it. 

For a simple man like me who lives in a simple house, to become a slave of the highest order and to have lived in their world is still surreal. 

I see you interrupting me, "A slave you say. There are no longer any slaves."

I scoff at you.  I was indeed a slave. What do you call a person who has no life other than what the prince or princess gives them as their daily morsel. What do you call a man who does not sleep but maybe three hours a night waiting by the phone for orders or instructions for twelve years on end? Shall I tell those who ask that the work almost killed me several times over? Shall I tell them that I was indeed a slave who lost his wife because of years of neglecting her and who did not get to see his own children grow up?

Shall I tell them of the deceit, lies, and backstabbing which were the normal part of my everyday existence. Shall I tell them that maybe only one out of ten thousand men could have done my job because of the miracles that they expected me to perform?

No slaves indeed!

Welcome to my life.