I wonder if there’s the remotest truth in the rumour that Swaziland’s King Mswati III is thinking of abducting Nkosazana Dlamini-Zuma as his 11th wife. By further spreading this rumour, I intend no affront to either the king or our splendid minister of foreign affairs. I do it simply because, in the true spirit of Mr Mbeki’s continental ecstasies, I feel a keen desire to see the very finest of human achievements shared out among all African states. If King Mswati ever did instruct his matrimonial swat team to capture Nkosazana, it would be churlish of South Africans, indeed of the magnanimous Mr Mbeki himself, if we
tried selfishly to keep this gifted and multi-faceted woman to ourselves.
As her full name, Nkosazana Dlamini-Zuma reveals, the minister was, earlier in her life, a functional member in a polygamous marriage. She was once Number One wife to Deputy President Jacob Zuma. This previous if only proportional marital experience would serve Nkosazana well in any future connubial arrangements with King Mswati. Nkosazana is well used to the seductive flushes of power, the sway and thrill of privileged existence, so the limitless blessings of a royal lifestyle would never corrupt her innate dedication to the public good. With deference to her age and profile, it is unlikely that the king’s other 10 wives would protest if Nkosazana jumped the queue and became Number One — in fact it might be just what the king’s conjugal arrangements need: matriachal traffic control. Gossip is rife about undignified squabbling for position and favour among the king’s current battery of spouses. With her experience of international diplomacy, Nkosazana could knock these regal bickerings into line with a snap of her powerful fingers.
What would be most positive about such an arrangement is its practical realisation of Mr Mbeki’s inspired Nepad masterplan. South African political, social and business life fairly teems with extraordinarily accomplished women. To keep this wealth of distaffian talent to ourselves is nothing short of plain greedy. That South Africa is a paragon of fair gender-play can be proven by just a glance across the African National Congress Cabinet, where some of the most seriously important portfolios have been entrusted to women. Think of how cleverly Nkosazana fondled her ministry in those giddy days when she was in charge of national health. There are many who yet aspire to the exacting Sarafina standards she set. If Nkosazana did indeed get snapped up at the next reed dance by King Mswati, what an example that could be for these others swimming in her turbulent wake. Whatever else it might be, African society is still under the control of rampant male chauvinists. We need to send out our finest women achievers to show the new, sensitive feminine way to run a continent.
In my usual humble fashion I would suggest that one or two others in our pantheon of super-gals, get scattered across Africa. For a start, Manto Tshabalala-Msimang could well think of changing her name to Manto Tshabalala-Msimang-Mugabe. Just imagine what Gentle Bobbsy and Sweetness Manto could produce in the way of tenderised human compassion. That silly Grace Mugabe would be blown all the way to Harrods.
If ever there was a country in need of a healing woman’s hand it is the festering, if highly profitable, sore of the Democratic Republic of Congo. Here a marital solution could be that Joseph Kabila whips up a quick marriage proposal to Geraldine Fraser-Moleketi or Dene Smuts or Mary Metcalfe or Frene Ginwala — or possibly all four as a job-lot. Those R37-million six-week-long Sun City junkets for dedicated Congo negotiators would become a thing of the past. Those four would spend it all on armour-plating.
My good friend, Roy W, tells me he’s always believed “peer review” was a specialist magazine for sexual enthusiasts who like to wee on each other, but apparently it’s actually some political mechanism used to penalise African political leaders who aren’t behaving themselves — which sounds more or less the same thing. The trouble is that peer review just isn’t working and so the continent needs some sort of self-generating internal control agency. Who better than that spike-eyed critic of political felony, Patricia de Lille. Hearty sighs of relief would be heard in the Cabinet room if a marriage of convenience could be arranged between Patricia and a political leviathan like Sam Nujoma.
These above are but a few humble suggestions of how South Africa’s treasure chest of female charm and achievement might be painted across a more global canvas. And we shouldn’t stop at the brightest political lassies, or confine our exports of female distinction to Africa’s borders. We should plough the whole field of South African female brilliance. Imagine the effect on the Middle East if Yasser Arafat could be persuaded to take Gwen Gill to what remains of his bedchamber. Gwen would look her very best in a dark grey burka. And think what cuddling Yasser could do for the gossip pages in the Sunday Times.
Archive: Previous columns by Robert Kirby