Waiting for JZ in a tent full of sweat

2014-09-30 15:45

Tuesday. I’m hanging in a huge tent. I’m waiting for the Commander in Chief. It’s been a long, sweaty wait.

For some reason, the Muppets organising the gig insisted we be seated by 9am. It’s a presidential imbizo and all that, with a 10am kick-off. Fair enough. The Croc and I are compliant citizens. We’re on time, despite the haul from Durban to Pietermaritzburg.

Turns out there’s no 10am kick-off. At 10am the host officials are still fighting over which of the VIPs get the cloth covered chairs and which get ordinary plastic ones like Joe Public.

The CiC’s a couple of clicks away doing door to doors at some very carefully selected houses in Imbali township. Half the Cabinet is in tow. The other half is waiting in air-conditioned luxury in the holding area while we sweat our asses off.

I start getting pissed off. Then I realise that I’ve been conned. This was all part of Mac Mirage’s damage control plan to stop the vultures asking the Commander in Chief about his visit to the Eiffel Tower. Or hitting him for a loan till payday.

I reckon the half a bar from Thint, Thales or whatever the f**k they’re called these days is long gone by now. I would have chowed it long ago. No exhibit, no charge, as they used to say in the gully in Knight Road, just behind the Sydenham kerelstasie.

By midday I’m close to collapse. There are rivers of sweat pouring off my head.

A very angry looking woman in a Government Communication and Information System jacket walks past with a tray of water and heads to the VIPs who have taken over the media area.

There are VIPs everywhere. Everybody’s got a VIP tag – even the staff from MaKhumalo’s tuckshop. It’s like that.

I ask the face puller for a bottle of water. She stares through me – no VIP tag I suppose – so I scoop one off her tray. It’s around 30 degrees Celsius but at least it’s wet.

The punters seem unfazed. They’re quite happy with Andile ka Majola lip synching to a distorted backing track. And the twit from a local radio station who spends most of his time punting his show and making stupid comments about some elderly lady’s G-string.

By the time the Cabinet members start arriving I’m at the stage where I don’t give a toss what the CiC says. The Big Lahnee could ’fess up and resign for all I care.

All I want is a bottle of cold water. And to get the hell out of Dodge.

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