Zukiswa Wanner

Remember Live8? You had forgotten? Let me remind you. In 2000, then-UN Secretary General Kofi Annan convinced world leaders to help eradicate world poverty by 2015 by signing the Millennium Development Goals at the United Nations. Among the goals are the provision of primary education for each child, fewer maternal deaths, and better governance. All very noble. All very naïve.

Five years later, the global world of NGOs together with the UN (collectively known as ‘civil society’) decided that they were going to hold world leaders accountable for the slow pace of the MDGs. Civil society decided that there were issues were hampering the pace of goals development in the developing world. So a campaign came about called Global Campaign to Action against Poverty (GCAP). Its purpose? To push developed nations to give more and better aid to developing nations, to give fairer trade policies, and to ask for debt cancellation. GCAP-aligned organisations decided that there were going to be three major campaign dates to push world leaders starting with the G8 Gleneagles Summit (thus the Live 8). And what would a good campaign be without music? Enter Sir Bob Geldof. He who we had last heard during another charity concert known as LiveAid back in 1985 asking the world of hungry Africans, ‘do they know it’s Christmas?’ (for the record Bob, we did. The Christian calendar seems to be the same worldwide).

Funds were found to stage concerts in different cities in the world with such headline acts as Bono, Angelique Kidjo and Sting among others so the world leaders in Gleneagles could see that the world was asking them to ‘make poverty history’. During the concerts, messages flashed on screens telling the world to SMS ‘No to Poverty.’ Concert-goers were given white bands that symbolised that the wearers were supporting the cause. Hollywood celebrities such as Brad Pitt became ambassadors of the campaign. Others like Djimmon Hounsou were brought in to Edinburgh on Virgin Active flights to tell the world leaders ‘Enough already. Make poverty history’. And for good measure, Sir Richard Branson also jetted in civil society activists from Africa, Asia, and South America. And they told the world leaders  alright. All very nice. And worthwhile. If it was not that before any of these summits, participating countries already go with their well-constructed policy papers.

At the end of the Gleneagles Summit, the G8 nations did not drastically cancel the debts (except for the 40 then-listed Highly Impoverished Poor Countries that cannot compete on the world stage anyway); there was no better aid offered; and fair trade continued to be a pipe dream for the developing world. Realistically, if France decided that they were no longer going to give subsidies to their farmers to ensure that French farmers sold their chickens at a cheaper rate to some African nations, this would only mean that African chicken farmers would be competing on an equal level and French farmers would be disgruntled. A government must take care of its voters, you know. Why was Chirac supposed to care about some farmer in Burkina Faso more than his own voters?  

Perhaps seeing the unrealistic goal of his predecessor, in 2010 Ban-Ki Moon decided to work with FIFA (and of course Hollywood) to accomplish ONE GOAL. The goal being of course to ensure that children get an education. This time around there is no concert but we have the catchy K’Naan tune ‘when I grow older, I will be stronger, they call me freedom…’ (thank heavens Sepp’s people decided not to use their World Cup theme song!) as background to John Legend, Matt Damon, Zinedine Zidane, and a host of other celebrities telling us that all we need is ‘1Goal.’ On my television screen, I am bombarded by messages telling me to send a text and join millions of people who have signed up to tell world leaders to accomplish this 1Goal. Déjà vu.

 Just as I wondered in 2005 when my then civil society colleagues decided just before the Millennium + Five United Nations General Assembly Summit  (that was the second campaign date. The third was the WTO Summit in Hong Kong) to pull out a $40,000 full-page advert in the New York Times asking leaders to ‘Say No to Poverty’ , I cannot help asking now, what is the point? It would be great if Lula da Silva in conversation with Jacob Zuma said, ‘I am going to cut down my entourage to the UN so that we can divert the funds to educate the children in the favelas here in Brazil.’ And Zuma countered, ‘you are right bro. And I am going to reduce the budget of the Presidency so that more children in the informal settlements in South Africa get an education.’ Or Uncle Bob said to Barack, ‘dude, I’ve decided Grace does not need any more new clothes. We are using the money to educate the children,’ while Barack responded, ‘Good idea. And I am going to take out the troops from Afghanistan and use the money to educate the children of that country thereby actually earning the right to call myself a Nobel  Peace Laureate.’ Alas, that is sadly not going to happen.

Jessica Alba, I know you mean well, but I doubt your 1Goal will be accomplished.  I could be wrong, and if I am, I shall be the first to retract my statement. But I doubt it. I can’t help thinking, perhaps if the money that is being used to flight all your adverts was actually diverted to something like buying books, paying teachers, or building schools, I would have a little faith. As it is Jess dear Jess, you will have to excuse me if I am not rushing to reach for my cellphone so I can SMS ‘1Goal.’

This weekend I cried. Then I called a friend of mine and told them how depressed I was. I kept thinking, on Friday during the match that started at 20h30 between Ghana and Uruguay, the best team did NOT win. You of course, having watched the game with me know what the best team was – yeah, Ghana.  

Maybe I need therapy but the game keeps playing in my head. I keep seeing that bloody Suarez, goddamn him, slapping Jabulani away from the goal. I keep having horrible replays of Asemoah Gyan missing that penalty. Worse than that though, I see those missed penalties after extra time and all I find myself saying is ‘feeeeeeckkk!. FIFA really needs to change its rules.’ I feel like a character in a Mpho Osei-Tutu play except I don’t find Parreira but threaten Blatter…’change the rules and let Ghana get the World Cup damn you. Do it now or I shoot!’

And talking of football-based violence. I do not deal well with depression. I am also very much a sore loser. But I am a firm believer in action rather than whining passively so I sent a call out via text to find out whether someone out there would be willing to do the continent a favour and ensure a certain dude from Uruguay by the name of Suarez gets into an ‘accident’. The good news is, a writer friend of mine promised that they will get him sorted. The better news is that, I have promised the writer friend that I will actively work on his deportation to Orania if he does not succeed. So South Africa and Africa, please feel free not to buy Deon Maas’ Witboy in Africa if Uruguay wins the World Cup.

I still continue to be pissed because I would have wished for the Nigerian callers of last blogpost to fall on their face after a Ghana World Cup lift (someone please explain to me again …there is Benin and Togo between Ghana and Nigeria so what is with the animosity?)

And then yesterday  afternoon I laughed. I was in Vilakazi Street, Soweto celebrating and mourning Ghana’s loss with my fellow Africans. The Ghanaian team made it there and it was a sight to behold. South Africans of all races yelling and cheering the players while waving the green, red, gold and black star that is the Ghanaian flag.

To the Ghanaian players

Sure you guys did not lift the Cup as both you and I had hoped but s*&% happens and I love you no less. You served your continent with honour despite Suarez being the Hand of Satan of the tournament. Because you are winners to me, I shall still apply for Ghanaian citizenship. Oh and in case you do not think my love for you is justified?  You went out after Italy and France, and with Brazil and Argentina. Now that is losing honourably and yours truly is looking forward to Brazil 2014 because I know you gentlemen will take it to another level. I am still spreading my heart to the 23 of you.

Note how I phrased that. You would think I have been having Nigerian gentlemen callers and have been heartbroken by a few Ghanaian men. Not quite. But love is indeed what is at the heart of the matter. Love for a round ball called Jabulani chased by twenty men from two opposing teams around a square field while two others stand on opposite ends trying to deny their opponents a chance to kick (yes Thierry and Diego, I said KICK) in the ball. I admit it. As happens every four years, World Cup fever’s got me bugging. It is greater now more than before because I am able to attend some of the matches. Yes I admit it. I was at Loftus when Bafana Bafana played Uruguay and I cried when Itumeleng Khune was sent off. There. Are you happy? I blame this World Cup fever on my mother. She has always been a big fan and now my aunt tells me, far Down Under, she stays awake eating, breathing, and texting World Cup statistics. And now you know the history, you will let me get on with it then?

First, the Nigerian Callers.

So I was on BBC World Service yesterday. The program? ‘World Cup Have your Say’. The question for the day yesterday was, ‘WHICH WORLD CUP TEAM WOULD YOU LIKE TO SEE THE BACK OF’ id est, go to the airport and fly on out of South Africa humiliated after having failed to make it to the next round. I kick off – ‘USA and Australia.’ Why? Because, I later tell Ross, the US team has not suffered enough humiliation; the Americans don’t care as much for the sport as the rest of the world; the US always wins at everything; and finally, I think they should go home for torturing us with that cat’s piss called Bud at different stadia nationwide. And Australia? Ag well, old rugby grudges die hard and they did give citizenship to  JM Coetzee and with him, a Nobel Literature Prize that should have rightly stayed here (OK maybe I am sounding a tad unreasonable here, but who said love was reasonable?). As last night’s result show, I was half-lucky. America stays but the Socceroos (what type of name is that someone please tell me? Probably the worst football nickname that has been at this World Cup) go home. Then the call-ins started. The first caller from Nigeria said he wanted GHANA to go home. Ross looked at me as I clutched my heart and said, bless him, ‘You are breaking Zuks’ heart here. Really? Ghana appears to be the only African country that seems to have hope to go further and you want them to leave? Why?’ The caller answers, ‘because Nigeria did not go through and if Nigeria will not go further then I don’t want Ghana to go further.’ Ha? There were more petulant calls like this from other guys in Nigeria and I just did not get it. Really, Nigerian callers to ‘Have Your Say’…we know you are out of the World Cup but it was not Ghana that got you out but your own players’ footwork , the fouls they committed, and their inability to defend when it most mattered. Ghana has made it. They are your neighbours when all is said and done, and they deserve yours and the rest of the continent’s support. I know there is some neighbourly animosity between you and Ghana but bury the hatchet this once and play nice. And if you don’t want to? Well here it is: in the future, I shall rule this continent. You keep on in that vein and you may not even get the Vice-Presidency I promised. Geez, with the lot like you I do not even know how your president copes. Good luck Jonathan!

And now to the Ghanaian Players.

You probably won’t read this. And if you do, forget the little joke about the stadium curse that I mention below. I was at Royal Bafokeng Stadium in Rustenberg when you played against the Socceroos (it does not get any less weird-sounding the more I say it) on the 19^th. You know I was rooting for you. I could not help wince when Kingson let what seemed like an easy catch through the goal but then I decided, it had happened to England the week before so the stadium must be cursed (as I said before this is a joke. A tasteless one given that you play at Royal Bafokeng on Saturday but a joke nevertheless). But you played well and what is more, the game ended in a One All draw. You were looking good on your table. Then last night happened. For all my love for you, I must admit that although Soccer City is only fifteen minutes from my house, I did not try to find tickets. A little matter of my having a rather nasty cold. I watched you play on television. Your first half was pretty good although you let the Germans in a little too much there. When the Germans let in a goal in second half, I panicked, seeing a dream that was so near getting distant as has often happened in past matches (NIGERIA comes to mind!).  I was going back and forth between the two channels because I wanted to know what the opponents on the other side were doing. I figure the guys on your sidelines were doing the same – listening to the game on some radio. So I understand your not scoring now. It was all part of a strategy. You come in second in your group, Germany leads, and Germany gets to play England during the weekend. This will mean you will be playing the US. Niiice. But don’t let the Americans fool you. Every now and again they can actually play the sport they choose to call soccer. But I believe in you. What makes you guys special that has been lacking in some of the African teams is that you play as a team. A coherent team. I am looking forward to seeing more of the same coherence but with greater striking force, some serious tackling midfield, and more and better defence, during the weekend. You almost did it during the Africa Cup of Nations, some of you did it during the U20 World Championships, you can do it now too.  And if this happens, you will make it through all the stages on your way to lifting that golden World Cup. I figure the gold that made it most likely came from this continent, maybe even Ghana. It would be poetic justice that it is retained here and you are the only people who can do it.

So Ghana players. Please men!  No pressure but if you read this remember, before you go on that field on the 26th that, you are doing this for your country. You are playing for your continent. Also remember the girl who sits typing thinking of you when she should be in bed taking medication for her cold. Do this for all of us whose blood is red, yellow and green with beautiful Black Stars gleaming in our hearts.  And win it just so that, come July 12, I can be able to say on this blog to all the Nigerian callers who called yesterday…’sorry, looooooooooozers.’ A little crazy I know. But who said love was reasonable? Especially when that love is split among twenty-three men?

Thank you for making me proud yesterday and all the best – to a definite finish on the 11th. As I said before though, no pressure!

So when my first book comes out I am invited to a radio show by one of the most listened to voice on radio. I ask the producer whether the radio show host has read my book. ‘No. She has not received a copy.’ So of course I inform them that I will get my publicist to drop a copy and when the book has been read, I will happily do the show.  I get a call a few days later and the producer wants to set up the interview. The radio show host has received the book and is ready and raring to go. My books have never been tough reads so I am excited. This, you must recall, is my first book and all interviews are welcome. I send a text to all my peeps to tell them to listen up. Imagine then my shock when in studio my host states – on air nogal, ‘Zukiswa,  I have your book but have not read it yet. Can you tell our listeners what it’s all about?’ Huh?!?!?!?!  Was not the pint of getting her the book so that she could READ it before calling me for an interview? I mean, if you are going to have a ‘book club’ on air, it would help very much if you actually read and NOT because book clubs have now become trendy among women of a certain age and income.

As you can imagine, it was a dead discussion. Interviewer had clearly shown she had no interest in what she had invited me to speak about – my book. So of course, there were no red lights beaming madly with callers wanting to engage with this writer. I have never been so disappointed in my life. It was my first disappointment with ‘literary journalists’. It would not be the last. And mine is not the only horror story. In conversation with writers, I have heard of worse.  I have heard of broadcasters who mispronounced writers’ names in interviews and read of those who misspelt writers’ books in articles. Flip, I could write a book about writers in interviews with people who are not familiar with the subject matter (fourth fictional book perhaps?).

I know. In the scheme of things and with a rather small reading market in South Africa, writers are probably bottom of the pack of people to interview. And we may very well be filling the empty broadcast time/white space in your broadsheet or magazine but it would be lovely to think that you actually cared about your subject (the writer’s book). And yes, we need you very much to publicise our work but please make it worthwhile? If I can clear my calendar and cancel all past engagements to do your interview surely you , or your producer can take time to research more about my work? Karabo on SAFM, Palesa on KayaFM, Melinda of True Love (actually she is also a writer and this is me trying to punt her hilarious book Hooked), Phakama of Wordsetc, Maureen of Sunday Independent and a few others can do it, why can’t you do it too (uhhm, I meant to say, did it too)?

Assuming though that you are just way too busy for us minions and our books, may I suggest that you go to google and read reviews and past interviews of the writers? It would all make it so much worthwhile.

As a writer I like to think that when I am being interviewed I am just as important as Khanyi Mbau on page 3 (or on the cover of your magazine or the highlight of your radio or television show) so please humour me. Yeah I know, I sound egotistical – but it does take a few months, maybe years to write a book. Show me I am worthy of your time too, goddammit. Read my book. Or failing that, google me so we can at least have an interesting conversation. If both these options are too difficult for you then I am putting myself on the line right now and saying, please don’t call me for an interview. As far as I am concerned, not all publicity is good publicity.

In light of the recent threats to South African media,  Thought Leader blogger Sipho Hlongwane made a call to South African  blogosphere fight against the tyranny.  If you have a blog and you agree with Hlongwane’s sentiments below, please email him at sipho.hlongwane@gmail.com South Africa’s freedom and democracy were hard won. let’s all guard them jealously.

Last week, shocking revelations concerning the activities of the ANC Youth League spokesperson Nyiko Floyd Shivambu came to the fore. According to a letter published in various news outlets, a complaint was laid by 19 political journalists with the Secretary General of the ANC, against Shivambu. This complaint letter detailed attempts by Shivambu to leak a dossier to certain journalists, purporting to expose the money laundering practices of Dumisani Lubisi, a journalist at the City Press. The letter also detailed the intimidation that followed when these journalists refused to publish these revelations.

We condemn in the strongest possible terms the reprisals against journalists by Shivambu. His actions constitute a blatant attack on media freedom and a grave infringement on Constitutional rights. It is a disturbing step towards dictatorial rule in South Africa. We call on the ANC and the ANC Youth League to distance themselves from the actions of Shivambu. The media have, time and again, been a vital democratic safeguard by exposing the actions of individuals who have abused their positions of power for personal and political gain.

The press have played a vital role in the liberation struggle, operating under difficult and often dangerous conditions to document some of the most crucial moments in the struggle against apartheid. It is therefore distressing to note that certain people within the ruling party are willing to maliciously target journalists by invading their privacy and threatening their colleagues in a bid to silence them in their legitimate work.

We also note the breathtaking hubris displayed by Shivambu and the ANC Youth League President Julius Malema in their response to the letter of complaint. Shivambu and Malema clearly have no respect for the media and the rights afforded to the media by the Constitution of South Africa. Such a response serves only to reinforce the position that the motive for leaking the so-called dossier was not a legitimate concern, but an insolent effort to intimidate and bully a journalist who had exposed embarrassing information about the Youth League President. We urge the ANC as a whole to reaffirm its commitment to media freedom and other Constitutional rights we enjoy as a country.

Blog Roll

http://thoughtleader.co.za/siphohlongwane
http://vocfm.co.za/blogs/munadia/
http://vocfm.co.za/blogs/shafiqmorton/
http://blogs.news24.com/needpoint
http://capetowngirl.co.za
http://thoughtleader.co.za/sentletsediakanyo
http://thoughtleader.co.za/davidjsmith
http://letterdash.com/one-eye-only
http://boyuninterrupted.blogspot.com
http://amandasevasti.com
http://blog.empyrean.co.za/
http://letterdash.com/brencro
http://6000.co.za
http://chrisroper.co.za
http://pieftw.com
http://hamishpillay.wordpress.com
http://memoirs4kimya.blogspot.com
http://thoughtleader.co.za/azadessa
http://watkykjy.co.za
http://fredhatman.co.za
http://thelifeanddeathchronicles.blogspot.com/
http://blogs.timeslive.co.za/common-dialogue/
http://www.clivesimpkins.blogs.com/
http://mashadutoit.wordpress.com
http://nicharalambous.com
http://sarocks.co.za
http://blogs.timeslive.co.za/stompies/
http://helenmoffett.book.co.za/blog/
http://01universe.blogspot.com
http://groundwork.worpress.com
http://iwrotethisforyou.me
http://fionasnyckers.book.co.za
http://attentiontodetail.wordpress.com
http://blogs.women24.com/editor
http://www.missmillib.blogspot.com
http://snowgoose.co.za
http://dreamfoundry.co.za
http://www.vanoodle.blogspot.com
http://alistairfairweather.com
http://www.zanedickens.com
http://www.nickhuntdavis.com
http://guysa.blogspot.com
http://book.co.za
http://baldy.co.za
http://skinnylaminx.com
http://blogs.african-writing.com/zukiswa
http://www.mielie.wordpress.com
http://blogs.timeslive.co.za/gatherer/
http://thoughtleader.co.za/sarahbritten
http://stii.co.za
http://blogs.news24.com/FSB_AP
http://twistedkoeksuster.blogspot.com
http://whensmokegetsinyoureyes.blogspot.com/
http://trinklebean.wordpress.com
http://commentry.wordpress.com/
http://matthewbuckland.com
http://blogs.news24.com/colour-me-fran
http://gormendizer.co.za
http://www.exmi.co.za
http://moralfibre.co.za
http://gnatj.com
http://fsi.org.za
http://synapses.co.za
http://simon.co.za/speakza
http://cat-dubai.blogspot.com
http://khadijapatel.co.za
http://ravingfans.co.za
http://www.harassedmom.co.za
http://angelo2711.posterous.com/
http://www.macgeek.co.za
http://greenwitch-musings.blogspot.com/
http://www.missmillib.blogspot.com

No. This is not some deeply thought out analysis of the problem with the continent. It is this author being power-hungry (a prelude to power-madness) and figuring out what would happen if Kwame and other pan-Africanists’ beautiful but unrealistic (because we are all so fragmented) dream of a united continent came true and she was President. And yes, I had to make the above disclaimer because some people are just too serious! Anyhoo, how would I run Africa?

It will obviously be tough for me in the beginning because, despite a majority of women on the continent, most of us still believe that men are the true anointed rulers (even when we have prior evidence that they cannot run a household). So my innovative way of getting the continent to vote for me would entail sending very personalised SMSs to each and every individual on the MTN network continentally – that should give me at least a third of the electorate. I would get my other third from great adverts and some endorsements by Nollywood and Generations actors. Failing to get the two thirds majority, I would plead to my maternal uncles in Zim (think C10) to sommer make a plan and ensure that I win.

Ministerial Code of Conduct

Nkosi Sikelel’a (adapted to different continental languages) being the most sung anthem on the continent will by default be the UA anthem. All Ministers are expected to learn it in at least three languages. It is a beautiful continent – all Ministers will be expected to take their holidays somewhere in the Union of Africa. Travel off the continent will only be for state visits. There will be lifestyle audits for all Ministers to ensure that they do not put their fingers in the cookie jar and pay is docked if Ministers are seen dressing in clothes not made by designers from this continent.  Saville Row suits, anything Italian, or French will result in disciplinary action in addition to the docked pay. Judges wearing white wigs and black gowns will be executed. So too mayors in chains and ridiculous red gowns. In pledging allegiance to the continent, the Ministers are expected to recite an edited version of ‘I Am an African.’

The Ministries

Uhhm, being Zambian-born of a South African and Zimbabwean union, I suppose that covers the three countries somewhat. But as this is a patriarchal world, we could claim South Africa is the only one covered. So there you have it, President is South African (and no folks. This is not South Africa thinking that although seated at the bottom, we are on top of the continent. It’s just that it is a South African who got the idea and, thanks to my Zimbabwean uncles, won the elections to be Executive President of the Union of Africa). And oh, my being president will mean  that we will not require that weird ministry called Women’s Affairs that some countries on this continent see fit to have.

Prime Minister – Seeing that I had this idea while chatting with a Kenyan friend on Facebook, I would probably give the Kenyans the Prime Ministerial role. I think they are pretty good in this position if Raila id anything to go by. I figure if I get pissed off at my cabinet, I could get a Raila-like character to fire the lot without any dirt on my hands. I would then change the decision if it appeared the union members (electorate) did not welcome the decision – and blame it on my Prime Minister’s over-enthusiasm.

Vice-President – No question about it, Nigeria. Judging from observation in recent years, Nigerians in the Vice-Presidency never get sick. Additionally, a Vice-Presidency is powerful enough for the continent’s most populous nation although it is ever so unclear what it is a Vice President does so  there is little mischief a la 419 scams to be done in the position (satire my Nigerian friends).

Finance – We will give this to Tanzania. More money for social spending (hospitals and schools) but less for infrastructure. As we have such a caring ministry of  finance, this means we will not waste resources on having a Ministry of Social Welfare. Another reason why we would give this to the Tanzanians is that they are just such nice people – and we are hoping less prone to corruption in this important portfolio. But if Tanzanian roads are anything to go by, what would happen to a budget for infrastructure?  Worry not my people. We would utilise the youth in the villages to build roads and rail (or upgrade the ones existing) thereby ensuring work creation and some sort of short-term guarantee that there is no influx of the unemployed to the cities. Our successor will deal with the influxes and we will thus go down in history as the President who gave people jobs (please note that in practicing for the position, we are already using the Presidential ‘we’ instead of ‘I’).

Arts – Because the President is an artist, this has suddenly become a very important Ministry. To ensure that fellow artists are well-taken care of, this Ministry is put in the hands of a nation that seems to have respect for its artists – Senegal. The Ministry of Arts and Culture will be responsible for ensuring that African artists are considered the standard worldwide  – in other words if the Minister does her/his  job well, we expect that in conversation and reviews people will say, ‘James Mitchell is truly the Wole Soyinka of English literature,’ ‘Antoinette Sarkozy is the Angelique Kidjo of French music’ and maybe even ‘Hollywood is the American Nollywood.’

Home Affairs – No doubt about it, we would definitely give this important ministry to Libya. Home Affairs officials are supposed to be tough and no-nonsense people. With Brother Leader’s training of immigration officials and their manning all African borders, we can be certain that there will be no more illegal immigrants (or legal but unwanted) on the continent. Chinese or otherwise.

Ministry of Foreign Affairs/ International Relations – This is a bit of a toss-up. Our friends in the West seem to love Botswana so we might give that large country with a small population this ministry. And then again when we are finally a united continent with the resources in our hands, do we really need any one’s approval? We would therefore give this to Ghana. Their experience in being the first independent African nation (yay) which later found itself declaring that it was a Highly Impoverished Poor Country (uhhm) stand them in good stead. It means they know just the right things to say to those Bretton Woods institutions – IMF and World Bank – and that’s what we require in this portfolio.

Defence – We categorically refuse to give this ministry to a nation but rather to a person. The individual who gets this job must apply for it and can be from anywhere on the continent. They must show firm commitment to the tenets of Pan-Africanism and to atheism (or at most be an agnostic) to ensure that our fellow Africans do not destroy human resources unnecessarily by slaughtering each other because of their tribal loyalties or religious beliefs. At the first sign of religious or tribal unrests, our Minister of Defence will be expected to gather the perpetrators of religious or tribal warfare in  South African stadia that will have no use after 2010 World Cup and get well-trained soldiers to shoot to kill. That should deter further unrests of this kind and create a continent of tolerance. If it does not quite work that way, we could just consider it a form of population control and repeat any time there are unrests (we are also warning all those upstart trade unions who seem to think money grows on trees here).

Agriculture – South Africans will tell you that they believe Thabo Mbeki kept Dr. Manto-Tshabalala Msimang as  Health Minister for purely sentimental reasons. We would give this ministry to Egypt for purely sentimental reasons too. The shaduf!

Health – Like defence, this is a position that will have to be applied for. The minister must be a qualified healthcare professional and should send proof to the Presidency that they have managed to recruit African healthcare workers in Europe, US, and Australasia to come back and ply their trade back home. The position requires someone with great persuasive powers (not you Morgan).

Additional Ministries

Ministry of Indigenisation - We are definitely giving this to Zimbabwe. Fifty one percent for locals, and 49 percent other investors. It is a better deal than African investors get from anywhere else in the world and imagine what we could do when we have all our resources in our control? No car shall be in a queue for longer than five minutes for petrol.

Ministry of Lobola and Culture– Some of you uncultured people may not think this is an important ministry but it is very much a necessity. This is the Minister who regulates the minimum (and maximum) amount that can be paid for lobola. Because of their experience in this long-held cultural practice, we shall give this portfolio to Swaziland. (please note, under the Wanner presidency, lobola is taxable income). An important cultural practice like polygamy will stay in place. But being that culture is dynamic, women will be allowed to take more than one husband just as men are allowed to take more than one wife. Your future President awaits applications from my First Gentlemen!

Please note – The ministries of Education and Justice are available. The future President will take suggestions for these ministries (and arguments for or against the ones listed above). We promise to read your recommendations carefully but as only the President knows what is good for the continent, we do not promise to act on them.

Twenty years ago today, the political icon that we all had heard of as Nelson Mandela, walked out of Victor Verster and became free. It was an auspicious occasion. I did not see it on television then as I was sitting in a class in a boarding school in Zimbabwe having afternoon prep. But at 14, it meant something to me. As a child of a South African then exiled from the country for over 20 years, I had always identified myself as a South African and to me at least, Mandela’s release meant I could finally come to this country for the very first time and get to know my South African family.

I was a few months shy of 18 when the first democratic elections happened. That meant I did not get to vote in our first democratic elections. This did not alter the sense of elation I felt when I watched the news and saw my fellow South Africans standing in line to vote for the very first time. Democracy meant we were free at last. Free to run our own affairs as a country and free to go where initially we would never have been allowed (in the neighbourhood I stay in now, a black man was once caught past curfew by some white men who proceeded to paint him with white paint because ‘he was a darkie walking past his curfew in a white neighbourhood and must therefore want to be white.’ I have seen the pictures of that man as taken by Alf Kumalo and they still show the ugly side of humanity to me).

Today I woke up thinking, South Africa was the last country on this continent to gain its freedom and for that reason – because it took so long to gain that independence and many of our fellow South Africans died or were maimed in trying to attain it -we should guard that freedom jealously.

How do I suggest we do that?

We do that by loving this country enough to roll up our sleeves, giving the best of ourselves, and making it work instead of waiting for someone (government, our families etc) to do it for us. We do that by holding our elected officials accountable when things go wrong and where they have erred, giving them the necessary boot. Much has been said lately on Facebook, newspapers, radio, and television about ‘respect of our elders.’ Now, I am not one to argue against this all-important African value but this does not mean we do not criticise where we see our elders making mistakes that may harm us all. In my limited opinion, the greatest problem that this country and the rest of the continent face is that we respect our elders (read: elected officials) a little too much. Respect is earned, whatever the age, not given willy-nilly. If I have a 60 year old domestic worker who fails to do their work, I shall continue to give due deference to their age but that does not mean I will not call them to account. Why is this different from our elected officials? Whether we like it or not, elected officials are servants (and not ‘my chief’ or anything else) of WE the PEOPLE.

As we look back on the hopes and dreams that Mandela’s release brought to us, let us reflect on that. And hold our elected officials, whether old or young, to the same expectations that the shareholders of a JSE-listed company would hold their CEO. Failure to do that will result in our becoming yet another failed nation.

As South Africans, let us continue to remember the words of Mandela and cherish the ideal of a democratic and free society. A society that allows for different voices to be heard and loves enough to question when our leaders veer off the correct path. This is not being counter-revolutionary. On the contrary, constructive criticism is the highest form of patriotism.

Chapter 4

 Sli, on the other hand, continues to blame my eventual fall from grace on alcohol. She says my family seems to have serious issues with the substance and whenever we consume a certain amount we go over the top. She went even further one day when she was cross and said it had something to do with my hotnot genes, though I always believe the genetic excuse is nothing but a cop-out. But she is a doctor. And she knows more about these things than I do. Maybe she is on to something there. Didn’t one of my maternal cousins roll on her baby and kill him when he was a mere three months old while she was drunk? So maybe Sli could be right.

Personally, though, I often choose to blame my mother. She did not drink, why then had she never told us not to drink? Surely the reason she did not drink was because she noticed a family history of bad relationships with alcohol? And lately I have been watching Oprah. Blaming your parents is very valid.

But most of the time I blame me. It was all because of me that I got into a fight with some American R&B star at an After Party. There, I have said it.

Mea culpa, as the old Catholics would say.

But at the end of the day, alcohol or no alcohol, I would still do the same thing today. So here is what happened.

I am sitting with my woman at this party and this retard of a singer tries to come on to Sli, right? He absolutely ignores me and comes up and stands right in front of Sli on those tall bar stools and says, ‘Wattup, shortie? We hevin’ a drink in my penthouse later, wanna join us?’

The man’s lines were as lame in person as they were on stage. There was no doubt about it, he was his own pathetic songwriter. I had only gone to the concert because I had free VIP passes and Sli thought the guy was good. Ja, whatever. But, who did this takalani think he was and what right did he have to come and shine his gold tooth at my woman and think because his ass was coming from the US he could disrespect the men out here?

I tried to be cool, you know, said to him before Sli could answer, ‘She is with me, man,’ hoping he would respect that.

But no. The fool of a singer looked me up and down a couple of times and instead of apologising said, ‘Well, if she is with you she only got to say so, ain’t she, dog?’

Okay. Perhaps I had had one too many and wasn’t inclined to tolerate crap. Especially from a man who knew no boundaries with other men’s women.

I answered loudly, ‘I am not your dog, man. Maybe your mother is. A female one at that.’

By now everyone was openly staring and trying to see where this was going.

‘What did you say about my momma, man?’ Then, turning to one of his bodyguards, ‘Did he just say something about my momma, dogg?’

The guard nodded, starting something.

By then Sli had stood up and was pulling my hand, ‘Asivaye, Mfundo, leave this shit alone.’

‘Yeah, man, go with your bitch before you embarrass yourself.’ Motor mouth singer clearly didn’t know who he was dealing with. Everyone had formed a semi-circle around us by that time and I knew it was now a matter of honour. This boy had not only disrespected me but had also had the nerve to call the woman I loved with everything in me, the woman I hoped to be the mother to my children one day, my girlfriend, a bitch. Jozi is my home and I would never have been able to walk it with my head held high if I had let him get away with it. And heaven knows, Johannesburg is small enough as it is. What’s a man to do? I mean, really!

I stood up, to my full six foot two frame, then threw a lightning punch at the American singer, who did not see what was coming to him. The loudmouth fell on the floor like a sack of potatoes and then I remember stepping on him with my canvas boots. Sli says it took four men to remove me from the poor guy, whose broken jaw ensured he would not go to play his Durban and Cape Town legs of the concert. The promoter, a well-known bigwig in the music industry, was furious.

He came up to me as I was walking out with Sli and said, loudly enough for everyone to hear, ‘I don’t care how brilliant a trumpeter you are. Your sorry ass is finished in this town and I will make sure you never play again, you little arsehole.’

Perhaps that’s when I overreacted. I shoved him out of the way, according to Sli, saying, ‘Fuck you and fuck your little American boy, and if you come in my face again, I will mess you up worse than your little boy over there.’

That led to my fifteen minutes of fame.

For the next week, breakfast shows on all the leading radio stations were asking listeners to call in with different opinions on the fight.

From one famous DJ, ‘How much disrespect should Africans take from Americans?’ Which ended up spinning out of control with callers talking of American tourists in Cape Town. Another asked, ‘If it were your woman, what would you have done?’ And from a female DJ who caught a lot of flak with her two-part question: ‘Does Violence Solve Anything? In Our Already Volatile Society, Shouldn’t Mfundo Dlamini Have Walked Away?’

With that one fight, I had single-handedly managed to blow the telephone budgets of a whole lot of offices. The country was on my side from the Cape to Beit Bridge. And many also agreed that I was a brilliant trumpeter, a Kippie incarnate.

Only problem was, no one was brave enough to want to cross swords with the music promoter and business mogul known as Emzee. He had made a pronouncement in everyone’s hearing, and it would be foolish for anyone to try to go against his stated wishes. In one week, I had got my fifteen minutes of fame and ended up with nothing to show for it. Well, except for when the media decided to give Emzee the platform on the fight, which ended with me being labelled Moegoe of the Week in one of the Sunday tabloids he co-owned.

I remember it. It read: Moegoe of the Week: Mfundo Dlamini. Violence does not solve anything. A woman is not taken, she goes, you moegoe. As if I didn’t know that. Of course I know a woman is not taken, but a man does not disrespect another in a crowd.

Do I have any regrets?

Yes. I regret that I broke only one jaw of lenja leyo.

But I was in a fix now, ke. My musical career had come to a screeching halt. I decided I would continue practising and writing tunes at home and also see how many underground free gigs I could take part in. After all, it was rumoured that it was only a matter of time before Emzee died. Z3, it was whispered by those in the know. I would bide my time and as soon as Emzee died, people would be beating a path to my door. I just knew it.

According to statistics, Kwazulu-Natal has the highest HIV prevalence in the country. And it’s all because of that old rogue and founder of the powerful Zulu nation, King Shaka. It was he, you see, who decided that young Zulu men should not waste the kingdom’s time going to circumcision schools but should rather use that time training for the army so that mfecane could be done and done well. Fortunately for the province of Kwazulu-Natal, a progressive monarch is now in power. King Goodwil Zwelithini knows that the warriors are no longer necessary thanks to the SANDF and therefore has seen fit to ‘turn HIV to HI Victory’. Women all over KZN must be celebrating because men will be getting circumcised again thereby reducing the chances of infecting them. KZN Premier, Zweli Mkhize agrees, but in order to avoid the many deaths and the botched circumcisions in the Eastern Cape that make ‘men who are not men,’ to paraphrase a certain Mr. Mgqolozana’s book, young men will get circumcised at government hospitals until legal circumcision schools are up and running – hopefully by June, in time for 2010 World Cup (I am not sure whether soccer tourists who are keen to undergo the experience can be accommodated).

I sure hope it works. Yeah I know I sound a tad negative but I just lost a circumcised relation to an HIV-related illness. The way I hear it, he may have got infected after his circumcision. Word has it that Vuyo (that was his name) spent the celebratory post-circumcision night with a girl who most people but he, knew was infected with the illness. I certainly hope that the Eastern Cape of ‘cleansing’ oneself after circumcision is not the same as the KZN way otherwise there might be little change in the rate of infection. Also, is his Highness really certain that there will not be opportunistic folks who will set up circumcision schools with little or no experience after June and cause botched circumcisions a la Eastern Cape?

Given the number of HIV orphans we have in the country, I personally welcome any initiative that reduces this scourge, as I am sure the rest of South Africa does but perhaps the monarch needs to add circumcision to other solutions? Like say for instance, discouraging 70 year old males from taking a fifth wife who is 19 years old and generally discouraging multiple partners?  

And then again what do I know? I am uncultured.

PS – I wonder whether this means my male Zulu friends will now be abducted a la Fikile so that they can go entabeni?!?!

Ah  but for absolutes. There was a time I would tell all and sundry with a semblance of pride that I do NOT read crime fiction. In retrospect, I do not recall why I said that with pride. Perhaps it was because my idea of crime fiction up until then was James Hadley Chase who I could not relate to. Enter the new phase of African crime fiction and I cannot get enough of it. Angela Makholwa’s Red Ink, Margie Orford’s Clare Hart trilogy, My Brother’s Keeper by Jassy Mackenzie and now I have just finished reading Mukoma wa Ngugi’s Nairobi Heat and I am a convert and not ashamed to yell it on the mountains.  African crime fiction rocks. And it is of the last book that I blog about today.

Meet black American detective Ishmael, a man stuck between a rock and a hard place as he has to investigate the death of an unknown girl found on the steps of an African professor in a wealthy neighbourhood of Madison, Wisconsin.  In the white world that Ishmael inhabits, the perpetrator of the crime must be brought to book, and soon. Because, this is not just a death. It’s the death of a white girl. Those poor whites of America, the Ku Klux Klan, have already started making a noise and they want answers just as much as the white liberals.  As Ishmael says of the quandary he finds himself in, ‘if I was to give advice to black criminals I would tell them this:  do not commit crimes against white people because the state will not rest until you are caught.’ He knows he is racing against time as the heat is on for his boss, the first black police chief in the county.   And yet the professor seems clean. He is, after all, revered the world over for having rescued many people from the Rwandese atrocities and for being a founder of an NGO that now looks after the victims’ interests. Time is running out. How will Ishmael solve this one?

And then a phone call from some mysterious person telling him to go to the root of the problem – Africa. And it is no longer just a crime. It is now a story spawning two continents and leading political and NGO characters. Finding himself in Nairobi partnered with crazy fellow detective David Odhiambo ‘O’ who metes out a justice of his own kind, Ishmael must dig deep to find the truth while trying to avoid the obvious pitfalls surrounding him (the fact that he does not speak Swahili and, even on a continent of fellow black people, that he stands out through his mannerisms and looks).

It is while in Nairobi, that he encounters that breed of person known in Kenya as a KC (Kenyan Cowboy), Lord Thompson, a strange old man and a nemesis  of O. Lord Thompson invites them for tea and later leads them to a place where they almost get killed. The question now is, how much does Lord Thompson know and who is he trying to protect? And where does the beautiful spoken word poet (I hear the pc term is Live Literary Artist now) Muddy fit in all this?  And is Joshua Hakizimana, the professor that Ishmael left behind, as heroic as the world believes he is?

To answer any of the above questions or to tell more would be to give the story away. What I can give away though is Nairobi Heat has a fast-pace that will leave you breathless but never wanting to put the book down until the very last page. As I raced through the book, I found myself cheering on O and Ishmael, I tasted the Tusker on my tongue, and I nodded my head in agreement at the wonderful insights Ngugi brings on the NGO business of ‘saving Africa.’

When you buy books to give away this Christmas, make sure Nairobi Heat is one of them – buy two copies though as you will not want to part with it if you are a bibliophile like me. This book is yet more proof that Africa is, as Siphiwo Mahala would like to say, ‘writing itself out of oppression,’ now if only our politicians would read and discover the secrets hidden between the covers of books, we could catch up in other spheres!