Sometimes even journalists get lucky. Last week I was stranded for four frustrating hours in Geneva airport, waiting for a connecting flight that somehow had vanished off the computers. Near the check-out counters, I was approached by a grimy tout who snuck up close and leered at me. ”Want to buy some feelthy Christmas cards?” he wheedled, holding out an equally grimy bundle tied together with string. I kicked him hard and sent him on his way.
As he scurried off, a card fell out of the bundle. I picked it up, glanced at it and, a moment later, I had him by the collar. The whole bundle cost me â,¬20 — a bargain at the price.
Apparently, in his recent trip to Switzerland, Zimbabwean President Robert Mugabe had taken his Christmas cards along with him as a reminder that he does have a few loyal friends left in the world. By mistake Bob had left them behind in the Air Zimbabwe Boeing 767 he had commandeered and where they were found by a Bosnian aircraft cleaner. From there to the tout and, eventually, into my eager hands. As I shuffled through them with trembling fingers, I realised the true value of this unexpected treasure. Here are few examples.
A gaudy depiction of the nativity scene was on one card. Beneath the usual Christmas and New Year greetings a bold hand had scrawled: ”Keep up your excellent works of destruction, Bob. As I sit here in my Nigerian exile’s palace surrounded by sycophants and willing servants, I realise that there’s much to be said for completely vandalising a country and most of its neighbours. Take a tip, Bob. Get out while you’re still young enough to enjoy the fruits of your loathsome dictatorship. Last week Obie sent down three truly fabulous mattress-backs from his personal stable of under-16 white hookers. There are plenty positive sides to colonialism but don’t tell Grace about this one. Much love, Charles.”
The next card I looked at was covered in slime with what looked like rat droppings stuck to it. I couldn’t understand the printed greetings as they were in Arabic, but, in a shaky hand, the written personal message to Mugabe was quite touching.
”Dear Bobby, I am sending this from my new underground palace my loyalists have cunningly disguised as a pit lavatory. The infidel forces of George W Bush and Tony Blair will never find me here among all the other turds. I have much admiration for you, Bobby. You are by far the best African example of how a mother of all crazed political psychopaths can hold power, murder millions, reduce his country to shambles and still get full support and admiration from his fellow African presidents — not to mention one or two of Europe’s best. Abluta Continua! Saddie.”
The next card was the most elegant, its greetings embossed on cream-coloured parchment. In a spidery hand the following had been added: ”Mon très cher Bobbie, je ne peux décrire adéquatement quel plaisir cela me donne de te voir faire ce doigt rigide àce porc de Blair. Tu as beaucoup de chance de ne pas avoir àvivre si près de lui et de ces anglais répugnants tout comme nous le devons. Quoi que les United Nations ou l’European Union disent, tu es toujours le bien venu en mon pays. Peux-tu dire àta jolie femme, Gracie, que Paris a de bien meilleurs magasins que ce bazar arabe, Harrods. Très cordialement, Jacques.” *
One Christmas message was written on a sheet of lavatory paper embossed with the words ”Property of Tribunal Into War Crimes, Genocide and Related Political Misdemeanours”:”Dearest Bob, whatever they say, don’t let them send you here. The food sucks, there’s no satellite television in the cells and the court hearings are extremely tedious. Make a deal and get out into some sort of opulent exile. Surely you’ve stolen enough by now to spend the rest of your days on the French Riviera. Love, Slobby.”
The last card depicted the Union Buildings at sunset. Below the usual seasonal greetings was a handwritten personal note: ”Dearest Anti-Colonialist-Racist Freedom-Fighter, I can’t tell you what joy you have brought to my inspired concept of the African renaissance. To be given the chance to quietly defend your noble and far-seeing democratic ideals on the world stage has been my singular pleasure. Essop, Nkosazana, and all your other Cabinet-level devotees send their best regards and the promise that whatever off-the-wall political lunacy you next decide on, you will always have them, and me, 100% behind you. As always, Thabs.”
* ”Dearest Bobbie, I can’t describe adequately how much pleasure it gives me to see you give your rigid finger to the pig Blair. You are most lucky that you do not have to live so close to him and the disgusting English as we do. No matter what the UN or the EU might say, you are always welcome in my country. Please tell your pretty wife, Gracie, that Paris has far better shops than that Arab bazaar, Harrods. Best regards, Jacques.”