Wish you were here?

I’ve been away for a while. Held captive by apathy, suppressed by stale politicking, laid low by the cold shoulder of yet another South African winter of discontent.

How boring.

Between the insufferable bleating of the usual suspects in the Zuma camp, mamparra behaviour by Pretoria’s thickest planks at that Loftus test match, the dongas / potholes we dodge every day and the general piss-poor state of service delivery here in la-la-land, it’s no wonder we are a nation of substance-dependent dullards.

Anyway, it is not the technicality that saw “the reverend” walk free that’s dragged me from my deep slumber, nor the crashing markets of Wall Street, Ike, alleged bonkings of the Bok coach or the third straight decent Spur ad in a row. No brothers and sisters, I stand before you today a shadow of the semi-interested scribe I was before but, hey, at least I am awake – and it’s all thanks to the “historic power sharing deal” signed in Harare.

Pouring myself a cheap glass of wine and gumming an end-of-the-month Salticrack, I was delighted to see, hear, read how many of the continent’s leaders (sic) made the trip to Zimbobwe to attend this historic occasion. I was only too thankful when the sour pinch of budget-beater vino started to blur my vision and dull my senses.

Once again the circus was in town to pamper the head-clown and, once again, the average citizen of that barren wasteland got to sit outside the pearly gates and starve while, no doubt, the fat, lazy and defunct hit the buffet like there was no tomorrow. No doubt there were plenty of chicken wings to throw at each other while Robert made a complete ass of himself, again.

Again.

How many times do we have to go through the same thing, listen to the same nonsense, forgive the statesmen and women of Africa for feeding their faces while, outside, the masses starve in droves? How many times can we blame the West for our woes, how long before Africa stops behaving like a wronged kid and pulls itself up by its bootstraps?

It’s not like there’s not been enough assistance. It’s not like there’s not enough minerals and potential wealth to go around, enough goodness, and kindness, and strong-willed people to make it work. It’s not like we do not know right from wrong yet, still, we manage to screw the pooch, chicken wing in one hand, glass of state-sponsored chardonnay in the other. . . and then we wonder why we are where we are as a continent.

Then we grandstand and protest, threaten to take the law into our own hands, connive, corrupt and conspire to bring countries to their knees should our voices not be heard. . . and we do so, petty men and women of so-called power, while outside our banquet halls, citizens lie broken, desolate and desperate.

What a lovely farce – this Africa.