Robert Kirby
LOOSE CANNON
For the next few hundred words I wish to dilate on the subject of Nkosazana Dlamini-Zuma’s new lavatory in the Union Buildings. It’s not that I have anything against Dlamini-Zuma having her own lavatory, it’s just the seemingly excessive cost of the whole exercise that begs a question or two.
According to reports, the cost of purchase and installation of Dlamini-Zuma’s new lavatory was no less than R70 000. As a concerned South African commentator I am struck with wonder at what sort of lavatory costs the price of nearly four low-cost houses and/or two brand new Unos and/or 30 return air-trips between Cape Town and Johannesburg. Some john.
Apart from basic costs, Dlamini-Sarafina- Zuma’s new lavatory took some seven months to install, delays due to problems with getting permission from the appropriate authorities. Apparently you can’t go around merrily slamming new cans into the Union Buildings without the necessary paperwork. Moreover, the Department of Public Works complained they had to deal with what they described as “antiquated plumbing”. Time is indeed money. But R70 000?
I speak from recent experience in the matter of installing a lavatory. Last year I did just that. With the help of two fellow installers it took a day and a half and the total cost was in the region of R1 500. The lavatory, a smart low-profile all-porcelain affair in tasteful beige, plus oaken seat and sundry mechanisms, cost R700. The extra piping and so on, and the plumbing fitments were a staggering R350, and the labour costs around R500.
When we installed the lavatory we also had to deal with antiquated plumbing, and not only that, we had to hack through a 45cm wall and, best of all, remove a quarter-ton block of concrete which used to support a milk-separating machine. Total: R1 500. This leaves no less than R68 500 unaccounted for in the case of our talented foreign minister’s bogger.
It was my technologically perceptive friend, Roy Watts, who suggested a possible reason for the inordinate cost of the Dlamini-Sarafina-Virodene-Zuma lavatory. Roy believes that the public works people must have installed one of the new state-of-the-art electronic defecatory centres currently being punted by leading-edge Japanese industrialists. These new lavatories are small masterpieces of digital wizardry complete with motherboards, software, climate control, on-board entertainment and which offer stress-free medically supervised dumping for those who can afford it.
The Japanese Super-Loo not only receives and disposes of, but at the touch of an ergonomically designed control button, will submit its owner’s arsehole to a process resembling a miniature car wash. All manner of sterile swabs, fountains, whirling brushes, disinfectants, anti- fungoid sprays, reamers and tiny chisels are computer-controlled to give any passing perineum that out-of-the-box look. Air-brushing is an optional extra on later models.
While the cosmetic missions are under way, other bits of the Japanese Super-Loo are busy at more serious endeavours. First there’s the weight of the owner to consider – both before and after so that the mass of the excretal product may properly be assessed. The Super-Loo also takes its owner’s temperature and keeps a record of pulse-rates. Then comes an instant analysis of a urine sample that has been covetously gathered. Ketones, proteins, pH and sugar are flashed up on a screen along with handy dietary suggestions. At regular intervals (no pun intended), the Super-Loo will print out an overview summary of, say, a month’s turds, their average weight, texture, relative humidity, dimensions, reflectivity, bouyancy and so on – and any astrological significance of their advents. It will give the average time between emissions and also calculates input/output conversion rates. While this is happening a tiny high-intensity camera inspects the owner’s undercarriage-doors for any early signs of decay. Peristalsis has never had it this good.
Having all this explained to me made me realise that Roy had knocked on to a real possibility when it comes to the case of the Dlamini-Sarafina-Virodene-AZT-Zuma’s new R70 000 lavatory. Allowing for diplomatic discounts and trade agreements, one of these Super-Loos could easily have cost that.
I take it all back.
Loose Cannon will in future appear in the Mail & Guardian on an occasional basis