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Mister Wong
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Is it your birthday again? Good heavens. I’ve only just recovered from celebrating the last one. You seem to have an awful lot of them, but that’s probably only because they go on for months and months at a time.
What with all the book launches, exhibitions, concerts, fun runs and bingo evenings held each year in your honour, I bet sometimes you long for the time when your birthday was a simple affair marked only by a visit from Winnie and an extra twenty minutes for lunch down at the limestone quarry.
I expect you’ll be spending the big day down on the farm at Qunu as you always do. If I were you, I’d get Bantu Holomisa to handle the logistics. You don’t want a repeat of that time when half the Transkei pitched up for a piece of your birthday cake.
If there’s one thing Bantu knows, it’s crowd control. He was, after all, trained by the SADF, an organisation that spent years controlling a crowd of 40 million people. I plan on being at your 46664 concert in London later this month. Is it true that Bok van Blerk will be doing a set with Eminem? I hope so. I would pay a lot of money to see a fusion of American and South African white trash.
I also heard that you have asked the Spice Girls to make a special appearance. I know they are your heroes, but I should warn you that the blonde one (you probably know her as Baby) is not to be trusted.
She is one of those British girls who has a thing for black men and Graca strikes me as a woman who will not put up with a giggly scrubber from Finchley fawning all over you.I’ve been wondering what to get you for your birthday.
You’re a hard man to buy for. Jacob Zuma is easy. He wants a machine gun. But you don’t really need anything apart from maybe those 27 years that were taken from you.
If you invite Zuma to your London bash, try to get him to do a duet with Paul McCartney. I would give anything to hear Umshini Wami sung to the tune of Hey Jude.
Most of all, though, I would like you to run for president again. How I long for those heady days when blacks and whites could walk arm in arm down the street without trying to stab one another in the back.
I don’t know if you read the papers any more, if I were you I certainly wouldn’t, but some rather peculiar things have been going on in the country.
The ship appears to be drifting dangerously near the rocks and by all accounts the skipper has been lashed to the mizzenmast by a gang of pirates who quite possibly lack the navigational skills to avert disaster.
A lot of us are wondering what you make of the situation. What do you think when Graca brings you the evening paper and the new face of the Youth League turns out to be a naked bum?
Do you anguish over the fact that your legacy is being squandered or do you settle into your comfy chair with an Irish coffee and watch The Coconuts? Bad television is probably easier to cope with. If you’re thinking about emigrating, it’s best that you avoid Australia.
The mere idea of bumping into JM Coetzee is too depressing for words. America wouldn’t have you because the ANC is still listed as a terrorist organisation and you can forget about the Arab countries because a fundamentalist group would grab you and offer to trade you for something really big, like England. They would get it, too. So. The big 9-0. This may sound like the outcome of a game between Lesotho and Bafana Bafana, which the Mountain Kingdom is still celebrating, but it’s not. It’s your age. Stay with me, here, Madiba. We’re almost done.
I am literally dying to discover your secret. The experts say that lots of fresh air, small portions of simple food, no alcohol and plenty of exercise are the key to longevity. They must be right. Look at what 17 years in BJ Vorster’s island health club did for you, you lucky devil.
I expect having that farm girl Zelda around has also helped to keep you out of trouble. Girls like that scare the daylights out of me. They hide the booze and punish you for the slightest curfew infringement. But they also cook like angels and, if the lighting is right, will do almost anything you ask. Well, mine did, anyway.
So, Tata, let me wish you a very happy birthday and please know that my house is always open to you. If things turn nasty and Graca makes you sleep on the couch, just come right on over. I’ll put Brenda on the floor.
We met briefly in Vancouver several years ago and I’m sure you have been wondering what I am up to these days. Let’s catch up soon.
Here are the directions for your driver: Take the Nelson Mandela Drive turnoff on the N1, cross the Nelson Mandela Bridge, then it’s the first right after the Nelson Mandela Museum, follow the Nelson Mandela River until you reach the Nelson Mandela Technikon and take your first left into Hendrik Verwoerd Street. I’m number 16.
Ben Trovato
