The dancing, the animal skins and the nubile, bare-breasted maidens struck a droll and pleasant note to start a year of football, strikes and budget deficits.
The bread and circuses showed Africa (not so Dark) at her finest — the blushing bride stepping out in her Louis Vuitton turban, the prawn curry simmering in the potjie, the groom and our head of state leaping about with a shield and spear and designer takkies, displaying chicken legs, alarming for such a corpulent frame.
This as the rest of us were buttering the cream crackers and figuring out how best to stretch things until our January pay. Those of us who will be getting any, that is.
By now we all know it’s about culture, et cetera, and that to argue otherwise is evidence of one’s unrehabilitated racism. As for me, I’m all for men who love women. One just wishes he didn’t have to rub our faces in it all the time. These serial marriages have been said to be evidence of Jacob Zuma’s chutzpah and even his street cred — but, as far as I’m concerned, it takes callousness to a whole new level. It must surely be a sign of the times that my 80-year-old grandmother could say derisively: “Even Mugabe has only one wife.”
Though the president has long spoken of his “pride” in his wives and children — unlike duplicitous adulterers the world over — one longs for a sort of “don’t ask, don’t tell” approach when it comes to multiple marriages and the public purse. And for a “private affair” this wedding sure managed to get a lot of coverage: considering how many front-page splashes it generated, nearly every journalist in the country was in Nkandla on Monday.
Which appears to be the strategy on the part of the president’s people: first deny any wedding is even taking place, then plead for the respect of his privacy and finally fling open the homestead door to the hack pack at the gate.
Forget all that talk about Pravin and his budget deficit fears, you hacks, Msholozi is getting maaa-a-riiiied. The blessed event, like others this time of year, was heralded by a series of portents. In this case they related to natality. First it was the announcement that the one billionth African had been born somewhere. Then there were the obligatory pictures in the papers of the New Year’s babies, their little prune faces staring blankly out at the world.
Ah, babies. Which brings me to another point: though there’s no confusion about the number of wives the man has, there is about the number of his children. Some put it at nine; others at 14; Wikipedia takes a stab at 19.
And with the reported arrival of a huge bed (queen size) at Nkandla on the day of the wedding, and — contemplating the dew-fresh faces of the two most recent brides — one can safely assume the pitter-patter of little Zuma feet will soon be heard again.
If one counts the children he’s had with his known wives, some others — about four — fall between the cracks and are unaccounted for. Perhaps they were sired in exile and are planning their imminent and glorious return in an airforce jet to papa’s side in Pretoria?
None of this can be too good for eco-warrior Zuma’s carbon footprint, all this ferrying of First Children about. And who on Earth in these times has so many children? Having wives is one thing, but is going forth and multiplying also an indisputable facet of Zulu culture?
And while we’re on the Bible, our president’s no spring chicken (despite his legs); one can safely assume this Methuselah will be quite long in the tooth by the time his youngest finishes school. If he’s planning more, he may not even live to see that day.
One understood in the days of yore when large families had an agrarian purpose, but one somehow doesn’t imagine Dudu, Gugu and the gang kicking off their Louboutins to do a bit of hoeing out back at the homestead.
And who, actually, is paying? He could well be funding his lifestyle personally or through his many benefactors, but is the taxpayer funding the presidential family’s medical aid, transportation and protection requirements? At least one of his wives was seen at this week’s wedding with her bodyguard and her aide. Michelle Obama has them, one could argue, so why not our First Ladies?
As a polygamist, Zuma is indeed in illustrious company — the kings of the Arabian Gulf and the King of Swaziland, to name a few. Difference is, they’ve got oil and nothing better to do, respectively — but we’re Africa’s struggling economic powerhouse. Jobs are being shed, the World Cup’s coming up and the Zimbabweans are at the door —
Come on, Mister President, if you can’t stop being a lady lova, at least consider a vasectomy. We are living, after all, in tough times. And not all of us have our own Indian.