Listening to some of Cyril Ramaphosa’s testimony to the Zondo Commission last week, I thought it unnecessary to want to get him to admit that he hadn’t done enough to stop the rot during his time as deputy to Jacob Zuma.
What would be gained by that?
JZ had a way of dealing with people who got in his way – he obliterated them.
That, in my mind, would have given the RET faction, Magashule et al, free rein and who knows where we might be today?
A Gupta in every corner? Fraudster Carl Niehaus as Minister of Finance?
It related directly to a book I’ve been reading, in which the author suggests that the country should shut the door firmly on the past and look to the future.
Other African countries, such as Kenya, have decided to take that route and are doing very nicely without all the angst we are surrounded with.
The book is a part family history, part autobiography, by former Sunday Times editor Brian Pottinger, who has retired to the North Coast to be near his Mauritian family’s roots and, well, because it’s a great place to live!
His forbears are the Marot family, who like many Mauritians, arrived here dirt poor and pulled themselves up by their bootstraps.
Back then immigrants had to have 5 pounds to gain entry.
He recounts the tale of the De Charmoy twins, Thomy and Charles, who arrived in Durban with just one 5 pound note.
So, one twin went through immigration, then back to the quayside and threw it to his brother, who got in with the same note!
The Marots eventually settled in Tongaat, working for the Tongaat Sugar Company.
They prospered enough to buy a cottage in Westbrook, where cousin Brian recalls many happy hours.
The family later bought farms in the Salt Rock area and locals will recall the last farmer of the family, kindly Noel Marot, who farmed Tara where Mt Richmore is today.
Brian found his niche in the nomadic trade of journalism, starting in the Daily News bureau in ‘Maritzburg, while I started across the street at the Witness.
I found his story very interesting, not least because there were many similarities of experience, including a stint reporting from the Press Gallery of the House of Parliament in Cape Town.
One story made me laugh out loud.
The then prime minister was John Vorster, best described as the Darth Vader of the apartheid years.
Brian says he could never make sense of National Party minister Chris Heunis, one of Vorster’s lieutenants.
I was a newbie in the Parliamentary press gallery when my colleagues played a trick on me.
They sent me off to a press conference called by Heunis, saying that he was going to make an important announcement and that I was not to come back without a great story.
I emerged from the conference in a complete panic.
I had not understood one word he’d said, either in English or Afrikaans, because he would say one thing then contradict himself moments later.
I found my colleagues in the pub, who all roared with laughter when I confessed I had been baffled by Heunis.
A few years ago, a book claimed that Tertius Myburgh, who Brian succeeded at the helm of the Times, had been a state security agent.
I knew Myburgh well enough and never believed a word of it, and his former PA, Maureen Crittall, who has also retired in these parts, agrees it is absolute nonsense. I was glad to read that Brian also rubbished the notion.
The title of the book comes from the tale of the photographer who was assigned to take portraits of the stone-faced John Vorster.
The photographer asked ‘And now, one of you smiling?’ To which Vorster replied ‘I em smiling, demmit!’
There is much more in this entertaining read, of the Pottingers’ time running a restaurant in Cornwall and a fascinating discourse on our political situation past and present.
Brian has kindly donated some 20 signed copies of ‘I em smiling!’ to us to sell, with all proceeds for The North Coast Courier Orphan Fund.
It retails at R280, but we can offer it to you at the bargain price of R200.
Available from our office above the Ballito Vet, I’m sure it will be of great interest to all who have chosen to make the North Coast their home.
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