Despite the four-hour wait, loud cheers greet Congress of the People (Cope) presidential candidate Mvume Dandala as he enters the hall in Nkowankowa, outside Tzaneen.
Cope Limpopo leader Willy Madisha, who’s held the fort, cuts his address short.
Flanked by his wife Phumzile, Dandala shakes hands. ”I want to apologise for the delay; I don’t want you to think we’re taking you for granted,” he says.
He starts addressing the 500-odd supporters, sounding more like a priest than a politician, his voice rising with every sentence. ”Cope is not in a panic because we’re in a no-lose situation. Where there are two or three people who stand with the truth, they won’t lose.”
An hour later, it’s on to a rally at the University of Venda in Thohoyandou, with a burger and a green salad from Steers en route, washed down with water. ”How long does it take to get to Venda?” he asks in the car. Two hours, replies his media officer, Lorato Tshenkeng. ”Do they know we’ll only be there at 6pm?” he asks anxiously.
Tshenkeng assures him Cope leaders have explained the situation to supporters camped at the stadium since 1pm.
Tshenkeng calls him tata — isiXhosa for father — while they chat about Bafana Bafana’s World Cup readiness, politics and poverty.
He gets excited by the spectacle of cheering Cope supporters in party regalia beside the Modjadjieskloof road. Referring to them as ”us”, he waves. He tells me he usually starts the day with a 20-minute run and exercises, but that on this Saturday he woke at six for his first radio interview and set off for Sekhukhune to meet 80 traditional leaders.
A native isiXhosa speaker, he admits he should have addressed them in Sepedi. ”I’d be a better person if I spoke a Sotho language,” he says. ”I feel very envious about it.”
Tshenkeng turns up the radio for the 5pm news bulletin, but Dandala says he doesn’t like listening to the news while campaigning. ”They report what you said, but not in full.”
The bulletin quotes him saying Cope will cut the number of people who depend on grants, without saying how. ”I’ll have to correct this thing,” he says.
At the stadium, before about 700 supporters, Dandala clarifies: ”The people — have the right to pensions and social grants. We don’t have a problem with policies; we’ve a problem with how they’re implemented.”
He says: ”Leaders should be ready for questions because they belong to the people. A leader’s a servant, not a king.”
Afterwards Dandala retires to the Khoroni Hotel where I join them for breakfast the next morning.
His bodyguard — the first he’s had — stands beside him. ”I’m uncomfortable with him, but I understand the need,” he says.
On a laptop, assistant Lerato Modisane goes through the day’s programme. At 7.30am a delegation from the Venda royal house arrives to fetch the Cope team.
En route to King Tony Mphephu’s palace, Dandala uses his cellphone to chat to his successor at the All Africa Conference of Churches, Andre Karamaga, about the International Criminal Court’s arrest warrant for Sudan’s Omar al-Bashir.
I ask if he’s still concerned about church matters; he shares a text message from a church colleague reading: ”Since you resigned from the ministry, have you ensured that you have a class meeting and a class minister?”
At the palace, Dandala addresses the Mphephu delegation humbly, calling the king’s uncle, David Mphephu, ”sir”.
Then he’s off to church and we call it a day.
Dandala sermonises and might alienate non-Christians. But otherwise he leaves a good impression.
He is willing to be accountable to South Africans and is a committed teamworker who takes advice from colleagues young enough to be his children. And he refuses to play the politics of mudslinging, focusing on his vision for South Africa and why he is best placed to lead the country.