Elections provide the chill factor
We should have more of these things. They seem to have a very high chill pill content. I’m talking of elections. We should schedule one or two of these as a matter of course.
It has been pretty laid back, this election. Even the SAUK has, until the past few days, spared us the talking heads proclaiming how holy they are. The only group still so holy that it’s a travesty they’re not already in heaven is the Democratic Party.
The others have learnt to play the game very well. Even Musa Myeni has chilled out. Remember Musa Myeni? He of the Inkatha Freedom Party. He who once promised to unleash hundreds of thousands of Zulu impis on Gauteng? I saw him on television on Tuesday with a group of other political types as they took their last soundbite opportunity before the local elections.
Good ol’ Musa has come a long way from those heady days of in-your-face-with-a -panga politicking. Never in my life have I seen a Zulu so measured, reasonable and — dare I say it? — diplomatic in his demeanour. Gone are the promises of mayhem or the demands that cultural weapons be made an integral part of office wear. These have been replaced by a straight-out-of-Vogue Musa chilling it in a major way. “I concur with my colleague in the opposition. There should be even-handedness in the handling of such issues,” he said, commenting on the then-imminent arrest of some white boy-toy soldier on charges of murder and other tasteless activities.
Jeez, Musa you’ve come a long way, mfowethu. What ever happened to “there will be bloodshed, there will be gnashing of teeth, women will wail”?
I do applaud you. Give me the number of your finishing school — I might need to call them one day.
Even the madams have chilled out this time. Last time around they were cowering in their two-for-the-price- of-one designer bunkers, waiting for the light to go out after the darkies take over. This was done while contemplating life on a constant diet of tinned fish. If they did venture outside the bunkers, they did so firmly holding on to the maids — thinking that the maids would be good-luck talismans.
Not this time. The madams were shopping up a storm at Sandton City while the maids were voting up a storm in the Sandton civic centre. Do you think that is what liberation was all about? Give all the work to the darkies — from the gardens to the local councils — so that the whities would have time on their hands to spend money? I daresay we’ve been duped. Everyone is having fun except the voting darkies.
Even our policemen were having fun. A young white policeman stationed in Sandton seemed to be having one hell of a time, showing off his cellular phone, a two- way radio and a pager — that is one man who is totally connected. He probably has a couple of drums, a blanket and wood (for a smoke signal) stashed somewhere just in case modern technology fails him and he needs to call someone somewhere.
To complement his techno-settler garb, he had slung across his shoulder an automatic rifle that looked like he needed his mother to help him carry it. It was probably for back-up just in case his semi-automatic pistol failed him That’s a well protected man, thought I, wondering whether he knows how to use the damn thing.
Well, maybe he won’t need to know how to use it, seeing the chill factor is so high.