No 1 (or Jay Zee as he is known to his close comrades) sits resplendent in his black Mercedes limousine as his blue light convoy hightails it to Nkandla. Sathyandranath Ragunanan Maharaj, ex Spokesman for El Presidente and close confident is sitting beside him. Jay Zee calls Sathyandranath Ragunanan Maharaj, “Mac” or “Maccie” (if he’s in an especially jovial mood), as he often gets muddled over the pronunciation of Mac’s long form name.
No 1 reaches into a built -in walnut cabinet to retrieve a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue, cracks the seal and pours a generous tot into two crystal tumblers with “JZ” stencilled into the glass.
Mac: Congratulations Jay Zee you dodged a real bullet with the release of Conrade Nhleko’s report today.
Jay Zee’s eyes narrow and he fixes Mac with a stare.
JZ: What do you mean “Bullet” Sathyadnrda Ranatanga Maharaja?
Mac knows that when No 1 attempts his full name it spells trouble potentially. Suddenly the plush leather seats of the luxury sedan feel distinctly uncomfortable.
Mac: Just an expression Mr President, just an expression.
JZ: Eh-Eh-Eh-Eh-Eh-Eh – got you there Maccie!
Jay Zee slaps Mac on the thigh and takes a swig of the Blue. Mac’s throat is a little dry so he follows suit.
JZ: Maccie I took Comrade Nhleko (Minister of Police) aside and explained to him that I have already paid my debt to this country. Those years on Robben Island were no picnic I tell you. I see my swimming pool – sorry fire-pool – as a small token of the country’s appreciation for my many selfless years of service. And Montamosizwe’s tuck shop – Maccie if I tried to take that away from her – there would be hell to pay. Sorry, not pay…um…eh…I think you know what I mean….
Mac: Absolutely No 1. You can’t help the fact that you have 850 charges of fraud and corruption against you; any number of failed cabinet and parastatal appointments to your name; an estate that is worth enough to feed orphaned children for years to come and a massacre of your own countrymen for which no one has been held to account. How are your wives by the way?
Mac takes a large gulp of blue and reaches for the bottle.
JZ: Spot on Maccie. It’s tough at the top. Look at what my good friend Sepp is going through at the moment over at Fifa. He never complains – he just keeps on giving. The last time he visited Nkandla he left a large suitcase under his bed with this handwritten note inside.
Jay Zee reaches into his crocodile skin Louis Vuitton holdall and pulls out an envelope with “SB” embossed in gold leaf on the front. He takes a sip of Blue and reads the card out loud.
JZ: “To my dear Jay Zee; you are the best host. Seeing you dance in your leopard skin in your newly built amphitheatre – impressive design by the way - singing “Bring me my machine gun” in your native tongue bought tears to my eyes. What passion! You are an example to us all. As a small token of my appreciation I have left a donation to your local football club, Nkandla United, in this suitcase. Spend, no invest, it wisely Mon Am Eeee. Yours ever, Sepp.” Mac, I am not sure what “Mon Am Eee” means but every time I read that letter I get a lump in my throat.
JZ puts his head back and closes his eyes as if lost in thought, crystal tumbler resting on his knee. Mac has another long draw of Blue and peers out of the window. He watches the world hurtling by as the blue light brigade cuts a swath through an assortment of cars, cyclists, pedestrians, goats and other cattle. Like Moses parting the Red Sea – well sort of.
Mac: What time are we due at Nkandla Jay Zee?
JZ: Depending on traffic, Maccie, around six-thirty. I told my boys-in-blue to clear the way for us, but those bloody potholes on the last stretch of road do slow us down. I told Comrade Nxesi (Minister of Public Works) that if the road wasn’t tarred by the end of next week I would have him re-deployed to one of those municipalities in the Eastern Cape where they constantly moan about electricity, water, toilets, housing, jobs – the list is endless. Ungrateful little shits.
Jay Zee gulps down the last of his Blue.
JZ: Sorry Maccie – I almost went off on one there. So yes, that should give you enough time to have a quick dip in the swim..eh….fire pool and be down for dinner eightish. I told Monwabantu to slaughter a cow so the braai should be well underway.
Mac: Jay Zee you are the consummate host. What more can a Comrade ask for from his No 1?
JZ: Mac, I scratch your back, you keep scratching mine; that’s how it works in our country.
JZ fixes Mac with “that look” again. Mac softens the thought of that physical image with a mouthful of Scotland’s finest and nods vigorously in agreement.
The gates at Nkandla swing open and the blue light brigade hurtles through, just missing the gardener, into the welcome arms of Jay Zee’s wives, Zondwansima, Mbontwtetwe, Tuletwa etc and his two pet bulls Julius and Winnie.
Mac feels a bit like Daniel to Jay Zee’s Moses as he enters the Lion’s Den but the Blue has softened his senses and he allows it to wash over him as he prepares for a long weekend of more Blue, braaied meat and reclining by the swimming pool – sorry fire pool!