I HAPPENED to be at home on Wednesday when ol’ Thuli Madonsela, the Public Protector, announced her findings regarding the… what shall I call them? the renovations to our esteemed President’s home at Nkandla. It was just as well that at home I
have a large and comfortable sofa for me to fall back upon, because I did as the revelations in the report knocked me back not once but several times. I looked like I was in the ring with Mike Tyson. Even our parrot, Teaspoon, was rocked back on his perch and squawked something like “faaaaque”.
Stone me, “something is rotten in the state of Denmark”, to quote that astute dude called William Shakespeare (Bill to his mates down at the Frog & Bucket). Something is really vrot. I don’t think I remembered that this whole saga goes back at least as far as December 2009 when the Mail & Guardian was asking questions about the security upgrades that then were said to be costing R65 million. That was bad enough. Thuli Madonsela said last week that the cost had escalated to R246 million. TWO HUNDRED AND FORTY SIX MILLION!!
And while this whole saga has been in the news, I read somewhere a comparison between what the last few presidents have had spent on their “security upgrades”. Ol’ PW Botha cost us under R200,000, FW cost us around R236,000, Nelson pushed the
boat out to the tune of around R32 million, Thabo bought it back a bit with his R12 million, and then Jacob, to continue the analogy, built the Titanic.
Now, if you draw a graph of these figures, then you gain a frightening insight as to the spend trend, and we can expect that Jacob’s successor, whoever he (or she?) might be, will spend something in the region of R1 billion-plus to upgrade the security at their particular domicile, including no doubt in their case, an Olympic-sized pool complete with 24-hour life guards and performing seals.
Listen, you know what I’ve decided: if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. Stuff it, I’m going to go into politics. I retire this year from the Vryheid Herald, and I’m going to be at a bit of a loose end, so why not? Jacob’s going for a second term, and by the time he’s finished that then I should have prepared the way to become… wait for it… South Africa’s First Democratically Elected White President! Now, that would be something, hey?
And who says I’m too old? How old is Bob Mugabe? Look at him; I’m far younger than ol’ Bob AND I’ve got a better moustache.
Then, you see, you dumb, trusting, pliable, gullible, wool-eyed taxpayers can spend a billion bucks upgrading my flat. Let me tell you what I would have done.
First off, don’t think because I live on the second storey of a block of flats in Vryheid that you are going to get away with forking out for a swimming pool. Oh no. You see, there’s no one living above me which make it ideal for a pool deck, you know, like you see in penthouses in movies, admittedly on buildings taller than my block of flats, but who says it must be a skyscraper. I live in a hadeda scraper.
True, a swimming pool will involve major restructural work, but being President I’ll have the Body Corp in my well-lined pocket so there shouldn’t be a problem. And while we’re up on the roof, they can erect a helipad so that I can be whisked off to Parliament or the Union Buildings as and when it’s necessary.
Then, I think it would be nice if I also had a tuck-shop. I mean if Jacob Zuma has one, then why shouldn’t I? Besides, it will give Doris something to do when I’m off at Parliament running the country, or overseas at a G7 or BRICS conference. It obviously
would have to be on ground level – we can’t have potential customers traipsing up and down the stairs willy nilly and queuing outside my kitchen window. That surely is a security risk. We don’t want the EFF up there pretending to buy milk and bread and then suddenly donning their berets and accusing Doris of being a “bloody agent”.
No, we’ll appropriate a corner of the garden downstairs and build it there, but the thing is, we can’t expect Doris to go up and down the stairs all day, so you, the ever generous taxpayers, will have to fork out for a lift. I don’t know what lifts cost but it’s probably a lot cheaper than a whole clinic, which is what Jacob got.
I’m not sure I want a cattle kraal, but a small chicken run would be nice – I’ll have to speak to the Body Corp again. Then Doris can sell fresh eggs in the tuck shop.
Regarding actual security, I’m sure that you’ll want your dearly beloved President, me, safe and sound in his home, so we’ll fit one of those security gates you see in the advert on TV during which a wrecking-ball uselessly tries to smash through it. And maybe some stout burglar bars on the kitchen window. I dunno, isn’t that bordering on paranoia?
In fact, thinking about it, I don’t think I could spend a billion bucks on upgrading my flat, no matter how hard I tried. If I don’t can I keep this
difference?
