Twists and Turns

There is a new character in town. A true man about town. He has a highly emotional and sentimental disposition and is dedicated to the service of other people. He is fervent, caring, and takes his job quite seriously. This character works for many a nongovernmental organisation. Sometimes he can be found flexing his muscles, throwing his weight about, in community development projects and other philanthropic causes that you may know of. He is also there at church; within those structures that seek to help the needy.

   Indeed, let me say that his determination is admirable but there is one problem that he has. He wants to be everywhere at the same time—I think the right word is omnipresent—and is not quite open to the help of others who are also willing to contribute to such meaningful causes.

   The moment you mention your desire to roll your sleeves up and getting involved in the projects he runs, Mr Helpfulton’s demeanour undergoes drastic changes: His face, until then wearing a smile, collapses into a frown; his hitherto sweet voice develops rough edges around and begins to somewhat crack. He becomes, on the whole, quite uneasy. You see, Mr Helpfulton is only happy with sucking in the praises for the hard and selfless endeavours that he engages in every day. And to him, such phrases as “the more the merrier”; or “unity is power” et cetera, are an anathema of sorts.

   It is one of the Seven Wonders of the World why Mr Helpfulton does not want any help. I have mentioned that perhaps he is a glory-lover. But there may be other reasons. Perhaps he benefits in materially from his role and hegemonic position. It may as well be that donors to such essentially good causes deal with him directly and he is tempted every now and again to pilfer some of the resources. So, to bring in more people would disturb him from benefiting. I should hope that it is not so, because that would be a disgraceful state of affairs. Yet that is what people strolling in the streets in town are saying; that he himself is corrupt as the government that he, from time to time, labels as a cesspit of corrupt activities. But Mr Helpfulton denies such allegations with every particle of air in his lungs and with every ounce of energy in his well-fed body.

   He calls such allegations, frivolous and jealous rants aimed at discrediting his glorious and spotless efforts. But he has never answered—nor do I remember such a question being directed at him—why he fights to the death collaboration in the pursuit to tackle some of our societal problems. Therefore, to me, he still remains suspect.

Buy Her Roasted Mealies

Buy her roasted mealies. Yes, I guarantee you, she’d love it. You might find these foregoing statements quite bizarre, but please do lend me your ears—or eyes. The thing is, gentlemen, we try too hard; and that is the problem. We find ourselves getting into unnecessary debt when we would have pleased our women for far less. You are probably asking where I was living for the past years; a cocoon? Perhaps. But that is not the point.

   I was in a local supermarket the other day, armed with my basket and Twenty Emalangeni note. I am not exactly a trolley kind of a guy, you know.  But that is just a matter of economics. I digress. So I was standing behind these two modern ladies who were chatting up a storm. The supermarket might have well been their private lounge. Anyway, these ladies sported the latest and expensive fashion trends; manicured finger-nails, high-heeled shoes, hair pieces—the works. So, one of them was talking about how most of the men she meets try too hard to impress her. ‘Girlfriend,’ she said, as she fiddled with the intricate lock of her designer purse, ‘I just don’t like men who try too hard.’ The other lady gave a nod, indicating that she clearly understood what her friend meant. ‘I just don’t understand a man who showers me with expensive gifts, like I can’t buy these things myself. Really?’ She ended, rolling her eyes in the process, as a sign of her displeasure of these men who think she hasn’t enough means to buy herself the desires of her heart. The other woman laughed and said that she too, wholly agreed. And then, the former went on: ‘Girlfriend, I would rather a man buy me roasted mealies. You know how I love roasted mealies?’ she asked her obliging friend, who promptly indicated her knowledge of such intelligence.

I was stunned.

   As I proceeded patiently to pay for the chicken hearts and bread I’d come to buy, and these women had long went out of the supermarket, presumably towards the car-park, their words (or should I say the words of the one who expressed herself the most) still rang in my fairly large-size head. Thereafter I made my way out of the shop, manoeuvring my way to the bus-rank to catch a bus home. In my mind, I then began to contemplate the conversation of these ladies in which I had been unintentionally a listener (in my defence, they were speaking rather loudly). And then it clicked; perhaps we chaps try too hard. No?

Instead of using your pre-paid electricity money to date our women in fancy restaurants, you could take her for a stroll in the dusty and pot-hole ridden streets of the township and buy her some good-old chicken-dust, or roasted mealies, or roasted chicken feet. Why, that would be quite interesting. Instead of starving the whole week to try and save money to buy her an expensive gift, you could take a pen and a paper, and write her a good-old love letter; therein spilling your most profound feelings for her.Seal it in a scented pink envelope and write outside, with the best handwriting your shaky hands can produce:

   “To so-and-so, the Love of my Life

                          Sealed with a tear, mingled with bittersweet emotions…”

   After you have written that, post it to her, or if you can, go to her house and shove it under her door. I’m not quite sure which one of these two methods of delivering the letter comes out as the most romantic. I leave the discretion with you my dear reader. Now the reaction to such heart-felt, yet not quite materialistic ways of displaying affection and love would be most interesting.

   I can imagine the reactions already. Maybe a few women—like the supermarket archetypal—would appreciate such. But I dare say, a majority of women would show you the exit door quicker than you can say, ‘But baby listen…” Such acts would no doubt be seen as buffoonery and nothing short of childishness and miser tendencies. And this would earn you all sorts of bad publicity, if you know what I mean; you would be the man to avoid—at all costs—around town.

   Therefore my unsolicited advice is this: Starve yourself; sleep in the dark, in order to shower your loved one with expensive gifts. No worries, this is only temporary—until you meet the “supermarket woman” I spoke about. My commiseration to the married chaps; there is no way out of that one gentlemen, as far as I know. Or you could be just like me; sit out the whole dating game until further notice. It’s that easy. No?

Tribute To My Teacher

We all did have that Grade Seven primary school teacher whom we feared worse than ghosts and tikoloshes ( the closest thing I can think of are leprechauns) that wreaked havoc in the tales our mothers and fathers told us when we were young. This teacher was usually a man (no surprise there) and was famous for his agility in administering corporal punishment to the errant and insubordinate student, as well as to the well-behaved. I reckon that is where the consolation laid—no one was safe from this marauding beast. You could be doing something as innocent and necessary as adjusting your undies beneath your khaki shorts, and you’d be accused of “playing” and not concentrating.

   This bully-teacher would go out of the classroom for a few minutes and when he returned, anything as low giggles, the drop of a pen, silent whispers—or anything that his ear caught—would be classified by him as  abhorrent noisemaking. And by extension that would mean lack of discipline on the part of the defenceless pupils. Thereafter it would be game time. You’d be thrashed with a dry bamboo stick, whipped with an electric cord, or flogged with a leather belt. You see, the weapon of choice depended on the mood of the teacher; the great exacting educationist.

   Now let me make it clear that this kind of a teacher was a preserve—and a creation I dare say—of government or public schools. So as such, some of my friends and all those who went to private schools had no experience of this kind of education. They would listen to us in rapt attention, jaws agape, as we the unfortunate victims of public education, told our arresting stories of our Grade Seven teachers, who were sent straight from the dark and murky dungeons of hell— with compliments.

   With childishness, they’d envy (can you believe it!) us and wish that they were also in on the action that went down every day on the “public side”. Now when I think about it, I realise that they kind of felt isolated because the majority of us went to public schools didn’t find their teachers at the “private side” interesting. Hell, if anything, we thought private education was a bore! The punishments (that is what they called it) seemed bizarre and a bit of a joke: with all the two-hour detentions, time-outs (whatever on earth that is) and extra homework. So in our uncanny way, we were the heroes in the eyes of our friends who went to private schools and that kind of felt good. But the flogging didn’t.

   Let it be put in the open that there was always a heated debate amongst us who attended kaHulumende (government) schools, on who had the worst Grade Seven teacher. Each and every one of us within my circle of friends (there were three of us) would come back from our different schools to tell of the torture we’d undergone that day. We’d try to outdo each other in our stories and, no doubt, we added a bit of curry and garlic here and there in a bid to have the most tantalising story. And stories did come out. One of my friends would begin, as solemnly as he could: ‘Today I had a donkey-ride.’ Satisfied with the puzzled look we’d offer in return of this brief and indeed puzzling statement, he’d continue to tell us that the “donkey-ride” was a kind of punishment their teacher had inflicted on them, He’d then go into all the gory details and end by noting that after their teacher was done, everyone was crying, including the beard-shaving seventeen year old boy who sat at the front row. In fact, he’d add, this old boy had been the first one to “ride” and cried like a baby.

   There’s tonnes of these stories we shared amongst ourselves, but the most important thing when narrating your experience was to make it seem as bloody as possible, and of course, a scar, or some kind of scratch on your face, hand or behind; or wherever really, got you the bonus points. It was only then that we’d take you seriously. Notwithstanding my two friends’ ability to spin a pretty good and convincing yarn, I still held that I had the worst Grade Seven teacher. “You needed to be there bafethu,’ I would say resignedly when I realised that my story had not been very convincing. ‘You are playing man,’ one of my friends would answer back, smug as ever. This was normally the chap who a good story and evidence (scars and that sort of thing) to back it up. ‘You too have no idea what happens at my school.’

   The only time I recall having narrated the most-convincing butt-thrashing story was this one time when our teacher (from now on to be referred to as Mr Beast) pulled this unbelievable stunt on some of my classmates and I. I swear I am not making this up. It was a cold winter day and we were just a few hundreds of metres away from our school. Grade Seven lessons had been shifted to begin at 0700 hours sharp, to “cover lost time”, as it was customary in most public schools. Might I humbly add that there hadn’t been “any time lost” but just slacking on the part of our teacher, usually in the previous year. So now we had to accommodate that laziness and catch up. It was for our own good, he’d say, or the exam would murder us. No one wanted that, so we obliged. I digress.

   It was a bunch of us Grade Seven As and we were walking to the school, talking or should I say shouting about something that had happened the previous day at school. Then, out of the blue, a man clad in a greyish pair of trousers, a black shirt and a pink tie flapping in the cold and dry winter air over his shoulder dashed past us at full-speed. When he was about ten metres ahead of us, he looked back at us over his shoulder and his face had that unmistakable evil toothless smile that we both feared and hated. The man was Mr Beast. We tried running after him, and maybe catching up or out-pacing him, but in vain. He was a lean-built fellow with long legs like the spider a daddy-long-legs spider. The fact that he was already ahead of us and that we had heavy school-bags strapped on to our tiny backs didn’t help either.

   The long and short of the story really is that we found Mr Beast waiting for us in class with a bamboo stick lying in anticipation on the wooden teacher’s desk. We weren’t really late; it was not yet seven o’clock. But Mr Beast said that we had to be reminded that pupils must never come after the teacher in class. He had asked the pupils who were already seated in their red chairs whether that was not the case, and an all-resounding YES! Boomed and filled the four-cornered classroom. We had been charged, tried and pronounced guilty. It was time for the sentence. We were given twelve blistering strokes, four on either hand, and eight on the buttocks. From that day forth, I got to school at half-past six in the morning. Just in case.

Sticking by a Friend: Swaziland and Taiwan's Relations

While the rest of Africa is running helter-skelter in excitement because of investment the People’s Republic of China (hereafter referred to as mainland China) is pouring into Africa, Swaziland has continued to stick to her guns, and has continued to be a faithful ally of the Republic of China on Taiwan (hereafter referred to as Taiwan). In fact, Swaziland is one of the few countries in Africa (others being the Gambia and Burkina Faso) that has diplomatic ties with Taiwan. And it seems, if Swaziland’s former Foreign Affairs Minister, Lutfo Dlamini’s words are anything to go by, the relationship is one that is still going to be around for quite a long time. The minister was quoted in the media as having described Swaziland’s relationship with Taiwan as, “a marriage that will not end in a divorce, even if mainland China were to approach the country”.

   But the question that boggles people’s minds is why Swaziland has continued to stick by Taiwan’s side when mainland China throws in hundreds of millions of dollars’ worth of investment and other infrastructural projects in Africa. There is no easy or definite answer to such a question but one can raise a series of postulations that seek to understand and explain such a position. The first one relates to the fact that Taiwan is not necessarily picky when it comes to its allies in spite of flaunting democratic credentials. It has lost most of its allies ever since it was kicked out of the United Nations (UN) in 1971, and its seat was handed over to mainland China. Therefore its general position of not meddling into a country’s local politics, it is argued, has given the regime of Swaziland one less ally to worry about in as far as benchmarks such as the respect for human rights and adherence to democracy and good governance are concerned. Yet a counter argument could be that mainland too has been known for dealing and supporting despotic regimes so long as her ends are met, and she too has a questionable human rights record.

   Another reason could be that of the investment that Taiwan has brought to Swaziland over the past forty-two years or so. Taiwan’s investment in Swaziland over the decades is estimated at about US $90 million. Also, Taiwan has been involved in many development projects in the country such as rural electrification, medical missions working in hospitals and rural clinics. All of these projects have in a sense impacted the lives of the ordinary people in the rural areas. It is also said that there are about twenty-five Taiwanese-owned factories in Swaziland—mostly in the garment sector—employing about fifteen thousand people, mostly women. It must be noted though, that these companies have time and again been accused of unfair labour practices and paying the workers starvation wages. Yet even with this argument, it does not necessarily follow that Swaziland wouldn’t reap the same benefits—or even more—with a relationship with mainland China.

   The relationship between these two nations is not only one-sided but does have a dimension of reciprocity to it. Swaziland lobbies for Taiwan’s inclusion in the UN and in other international and multilateral institutions. Again, the former Foreign Affairs Minister was quoted as having said: “We are proud of ourselves that we have always stood by Taiwan, even in the UN. This is why we take pride that today Taiwan is part of the World Health Organisation (WHO), and this is our wish that one day Taiwan will be recognised by all the bodies because of the value and role the people of Taiwan play in the development of the world.

Perhaps what also influences Swaziland’s stance is its unwillingness to switch sides from an ally they’ve had cordial dealings with for over four decades, to a country they’ve absolutely no idea of how it operates, and that is mainland China. The authorities may fear that in their dealings with mainland China, they would have to compete with other African countries for investment, of which they may not be able to secure a large share. But there is another view that it may not necessarily boil down to choosing between the two countries. It has been pointed out that the relations between China and Taiwan have been thawing recently, and therefore Swaziland could have the best of both worlds.

   And indeed, the Swaziland government seems to be open to such a possibility. Asked by reporters if China has tried to force the country to switch allegiance to Beijing, the former Minister of Foreign Affairs is supposed to have said: “…they (China) have yet to approach the country”. He continued to say, “But let me give this example: When you are young and beautiful, a lot of men want to marry you, and there is nothing wrong with that.” Another aspect to it maybe that China doesn’t see Swaziland as that important, from a strategic and cost-benefit analysis point of view, for her to coax the latter into a establishing ties with her.

It must be noted though that having concurrent diplomatic relations with both China and Taiwan can prove untenable for Swaziland, especially in connection to her foreign policy stance. Swaziland’s would find herself between a rock and a hard place, especially between her position of lobbying for Taiwan to be accepted in the UN and China’s hard line approach of meddling in other states’ foreign policy positions (the case of the Dalai Lama’s denied visit in South Africa provides a classic example).

   It is for that reason that I am sceptical as to whether Swaziland will be having any diplomatic relations with China anytime soon, unless of course the is a major development on the front of China and Taiwan relations.

Everything and nothing

Don’t you sometimes wish that you were simple? Not giving two-pence for what happens around you and the world over. Sometimes I do. It usually comes as a passing feeling—transitory, I think, is the right word. Almost just like the feeling you get when an attractive woman passes by. When she’s out of sight, you forget you ever saw her. Perhaps the feeling that surged within you when you saw her would return, perhaps not. Ignorance is indeed bliss.

   When I board a kombi home, I listen to an overzealous man (it’s always a man) causing a din; he talks about what is wrong about the politics of our country and what he—if of course afforded the handsome opportunity—can do to right the wrongs. At times he makes valid points in his argument, but most of the time what he speaks about is irrelevant and doesn’t make (a lot of) sense. The other passengers are usually deferring, or is it that they just don’t have the energy to engage in an argument after a long day at work? One is not too sure. All the same, murmurs and grunts, mostly of approval I think, of the man’s speech fill the kombi. Who dare disagrees with this public transport intellectual? For when he speaks, a sort of passion burns in his eyes and he raises his voice above any other and the roaring and old engine. It is as if he has convinced himself that the louder his voice, the more valid his arguments. I listen half-interestedly, but after the discourse (how dare you think of it as anything less?) has ended, I say to myself; it’s not that simple.

   I turn on the radio at home and fiddle with the tuning knob, hoping to listen to something interesting. But all I find is a boisterous pastor preaching about prosperity. Prosperity this, prosperity that. Lower dimension, higher dimension. “You are blessed!” he declares. “The poor have no one to blame but themselves,” he warms into his sermon. Then I switch off my ears. I am a Christian, but I do not think that it is that simple. Certainly not all poor people are like that because they want to. For the sake of Heavens, I don’t reckon there’s anyone who enjoys a life of squalor, I muse. It’s because they are lazy, someone will say. I jerk my head to take a look at the speaker, and more often than not it’s those wool-on-the-eyes middle-class bourgeois type, who’s had a silver spoon in their mouth since birth. The Basotho people have a saying: “O keke ua utloa monate ua khoho u sa tsebe bohloko ba tlala,” (You will never appreciate the taste of chicken meat if you’ve never felt the pain of hunger). Others prefer to flaunt a rags-to-riches story and I’ll note that that is more of an exception than the rule.

   Poverty is now stripped off its ecology and presented at its barest. Poor equals lazy. Finish and klaar. No two ways about it. So social class has absolutely nothing to do with it? How about bad governance? The lack of adequate resources? Geography? Politics? They scoff and say social deprivation stems from the mind. I say to them your minds are deprived.

   There is a view spun somewhere in our societal circles that education equals money. I say, humbly, that it does not necessarily follow. “I can’t wait to complete my B.A degree,” and enthusiastic student will say, “so that I can have money” (money here can be substituted with the word ‘rich’). Really? You think education is solely about money-making? I ask. I beg to differ. Education ought to teach you how to live, and judging from your talk, you haven’t learnt much. No wonder why our society is so messed up, students pursuing education for big cars, not for anything qualitative in value. It has been reduced to as a ride towards ostentatious living—a kind of hedonism dominant in our society.

   I proffer my unsolicited advice that the best way to make money is to go into business. That is where the money is made; in that dog-eat-dog world. A balanced view of education is to see it as the nurturing of the mind foe its own sake. Because, as they say; a head without knowledge is a heavy load on the shoulder. Quantitative benefits ought to be secondary. You must think I’m a deranged man, but just think about these matters.

   Money equals happiness, they will argue. I say not exactly. Fine, they’ll say, then look at it this way: It is better to be unhappy and bogged down by problems in a mansion than peace and quiet in a shack. I say, is that a joke? I would rather have a piece of bread in peace and quiet than a banquet in a house full of strife. We all as humans need some money to make ends meet; but I see money purely as a means to an end than to pursue it purely as an end, which is what some people do. Lend me your ear and do not misconstrue my words; I do not bar people from living their lives as they please, but all I’m saying is that we are not motivated by the same things. That is my story and I intend to stick by it.

You must really think I am a deranged man—philosophising because of want to do—but thinks about these things. It’s not that simple.

Corruption. Corruption this, corruption that. It seems to be the ‘it’ word amongst most of our politicians in our beloved African continent. “We will fight against corruption,” they will shout at the top of their vices during election campaigns. Usually, such hackneyed declarations will be met with thunderous applause by the gullible—or is it just hopeful?—crowd. Yet once they are in power it’s all systems go—business as usual. No change. As I see it, it’s just rhetoric; just political humbug. Politicians’ tongues are usually sharp against corruption, yet their day-to-day actions invalidate the big talk.

   Once these gentlemen (and the ladies too) are in power, they realise how much they’ve missed out over the years. So much wealth to amass in spite of the poor people who struggle to make ends meet. There are little or no repercussions. They collude with big business, the powerful bureaucratic bourgeoisie, and they eat. I know for instance that in South Africa and in Swaziland there is a justification—flimsy at it may be—for one’s helping themselves to public funds. It goes, “Badlile labanye, sekudla tsine” (Others have already eaten; now it’s our turn to eat).

   To validate the rhetoric of fighting corruption and to ‘eat’ in peace, most of our governments form anti-corruption commissions or units. Such a step is always accompanied by flare. These units are hailed as the saving grace in societies where ‘kugcobisa sandla’ (the greasing of one’s palm) or paying a bribe is a common way to get services from the government bureaucracy. But in many cases, this is just a decoy, a trick to make the public believe that something’s being done to curtail corruption. They’ll haul one or two expendable chaps (within the ‘eating’ scheme) to court; the case will drag for years and soon everybody forgets about it. When an overzealous civil society organisation begins harping about corruption this, corruption that: the authorities will use the aforementioned cases as a point of reference. “We have high profile cases already in court,” the government spokesperson will officially note, “and all we can do is to let the law take its course. We all know the wheels of justice grind slow, but very fine,” he or she will end self-importantly and very pleased with their response.

   But I dare you to scratch beyond the shiny surface. You will find that most of these anti-corruption initiatives are half-hearted and the agencies ill-capacitated, and consequently have their hands tied, in as far as dealing with this societal ill is concerned. For an example, Swaziland has the Anti-Corruption Commission (ACC). It is empowered by the establishing Act to investigate, and if satisfied that it has built a case, send everything to the office of the Director of Public Prosecutions (DPP) for prosecution. That corruption case, which may have had tongues wagging, joins the long queue of cases—criminal, commercial or what have you—that have to be prosecuted by this overworked office. The corruption case may make it to the court roll in the next two months or two years; no one knows, these things are beyond anyone’s control, or so we are made to believe. The public ends up apathetic and questioning themselves if there’s anything wrong with embezzlement and misuse of public funds in the first place. Why? Not even a single big head is rolling.

If the graft-busting unit is well-capacitated and doing its job fairly well then it poses a threat to the elite, especially the political elite. Therefore means will be made to cut it into a manageable size. Politicians and their cohort do not like an anti-graft unit that is getting too big for its own boots. Yet that is not what they will say once they begin cutting it down to size. The words will be along the lines of ‘restructuring’ r ‘capacitating’. Take the case of South Africa; the Scorpions had a respectable anti-graft unit that had quite an impressive conviction rate. But its target at that time had been chiefly amongst the business class, without the requisite political connections. Once it began investigating the political hot-shots, there were grumblings in the corridors of power. The Scorpions had begun desecrating holy ground. Next thing you knew, they were disbanded under a masquerade f restructuring and that they had become a law unto themselves (a privilege reserved for politicians).

   Citizens of Africa, it’s nothing personal, our elites would like to help themselves on our taxes with no one breathing down their necks every time they stick their hands into the cookie jar. You see, the so-called fight against corruption must be dexterously balanced with the mantra ‘Others have eaten already, now it’s our time to eat’. Whether this is the best way to deal with the problem really depends on who you ask. 

Home truths about Democracy in Swaziland

 Recently, the spokesman of South Africa’s ruling party, the African National Congress (ANC) reaffirmed the commitment of his party in fostering democratic reform in the kingdom of Swaziland. Mr. Jackson Mthembu, speaking at a policy conference of his party said that they, in principle had no qualms with the monarchy of Swaziland. He asked why the monarchy of the country could not emulate that of the kingdom of Lesotho—that is allow multi-party contestation of political power and extricate itself from the day to day rigours of active politics. At the moment, political parties are banned in Swaziland and some have been proscribed as terrorist organisations under the Suppression of Terrorism Act of 2008.

In essence, this statement by South Africa’s governing party means that the government of that country will continue to attach the rather unsettling (to the political elite of Swaziland) condition of social and political reform to the 2.4 billion rands loan that Swaziland had sought from her “big brother” neighbour, in a bid to solve the financial crisis she currently faces. But as thing stand, the loan has not yet been released to Swaziland because the aforementioned condition continues to stick out like the proverbial sore thumb. So controversial is this condition to some senior figures within the higher echelons of the traditional authorities that a senior prince once declared that Swaziland would not sell her birth right to South Africa.

Indeed, within the ranks of the pro-democracy camp in the country, this mere pronunciation by the ANC has caused great joy and has been hailed as a milestone in the fight for democracy and human rights in the country. Yet I have reason to take this pronouncement and its intended effects with a pinch of salt. Perhaps against this backdrop one may ask: What is the predetermining factor of positive change—socio-political change—within a country? To rephrase the question: Which is the most formidable force of constructive change in a country, one engineered from outside or one which the people are fully committed to and determine its course?

The reason for my skepticism regarding the position of the ANC—well-meaning as it may be—vis-à-vis socio-political reform in Swaziland is that even though such a stance may be enshrined as policy in the former’s elective conference late this year; that is hardly a guarantee of an aggressive approach at government level in pursuance of such. Real politik will tend to militate against such. By the foregoing statement I mean that interactions and dealings at the highest government level of South Africa and Swaziland—taking into account their history and traditions—may result in nothing concrete aimed to achieve the goal of reform in the latter. If anything, the approach of the former may be lax and placating—to the chagrin of those who might have liked it to be a bit more aggressive—and might not change anything in the long run. Such is not impossible, as we have witnessed not very long ago of South Africa’s approach to the Zimbabwean crisis. The final result was a superficial reconfiguration of the political system which resulted in a unity government that has threatened to be asunder ever so frequently and hasn’t brought much benefit for the ordinary man; save for the halt in violence that had seen the country teetering on the brink of civil chaos. Otherwise, poverty and stark inequality are still the grim daily realities.

Therefore, notwithstanding the important role that external factors may play in the process of social and political transformation in the kingdom, the ball primarily falls in the court of the people of Swaziland. As the country goes through the current turbulences—protracted teachers’ and civil servants’ strikes and fiscal (?) challenges—the people must stand up and voice their opinions appertaining to the future of the country. Civil society groups still face the herculean task of conscientising the people on the goings-on in our society and explain to them the causes of such.

The current protest actions by teachers and civil servants do not necessarily translate to strife for democratic reform per se. So long as a tight iron lid remains on the most popular media—the radio—and the rural folks are consequently kept ignorant of the rocking government boat and its iniquitous acts, the political elite and their cohort consider themselves safe—if only for a while. The true power of democratic social and political reform lies within purposeful efforts in educating the poor masses—69 per cent according to the World Bank—on why they find themselves in such odious conditions of poverty and underdevelopment.

So long as the masses’ minds are held hostage under the masquerade of culture and a mystique of intact traditions—which must be followed to the letter, when the select few who determine its course do not even try to abide by them—democratisation is only a distant mirage. People must know that debate and questioning in political discourse is not taboo. If anything, it is a norm.

A culture of holding our leaders accountable ought to rise and be buttressed in our society. Gone are the days of governance through the unquestionable “wisdom of the right thigh”, to quote the words of writer, Can Themba. We cannot be held ransom in a country we have every right (?) to be in as our leaders. We must therefore all act to change such a pitiable state of affairs.