Last week Wednesday I had the happy accident of having dinner with the newly formed Congress of the (disgruntled, intellectual) People’s presidential candidate in a very nice restaurant called Ginger in the lobby of The Beach Hotel, Port Elizabeth.
Having been in that sleepy hollow for two days already, I was hoping for a bit of excitement and it fortunately came with this encounter. I am not one for discussing politics, in fact, I regard myself as quite a layman when it comes to politics and would rather steer clear of discussing things I know sweet little about unlike some of our political analysts who leave a lot to be desired, to say the least, in their “analysis” of political progression in this country.
So this is not a politically fuelled blog, this is in fact a fat, hungry observer’s account of a man who represents the hopes of the LSM A, upwardly mobile, politically displaced black South Africans who wish to distance themselves from a party which they now see to represent the plebeians of our new dispensation.
By my assertion above, do not judge me as a supporter of any party; I base my opinion of Cope on what I have observed of them. If you were to present the facts to a bright five-year-old about how Cope came to be and gave him a choice of a) Cope is a party formed by spoilt brats who took their ball and went home because they were not picked for the team or b) Cope is a party formed by people who know they are right and will not be part of an organisation that is intrinsically corrupt — the kid, based only on evidence not opinion, would pick (a), it is that simple.
My only bone of contention with Cope is how they came to be, not what they stand for. Accept for wanting to scrap AA, they pretty much represent what many other progressive parties represent — making peoples lives better. The tools they would employ may be different, but they would have the same end goal.
But back to my dinner with Mvume; his party came into the restaurant a little after 20h30, I remember because this was when my Calamari Bell starter was served. They were seated at a table next to the people I was having dinner with. There was a bit of a civilised raucousness as people started recognising him, much pointing and whispering then took place in polite excitement. As it so happened, someone from my party was quite close with what seemed like a senior member of the Cope dinner party and stood and went to have a chat with the said gentleman. They hugged and kissed and then she was announced to the big man, Mvume himself, who stood up to greet her with a wide grin on his face and gave her two pecks on the cheeks. I could have sworn I heard a “Bravo, bravo … jolly good show!” from one of them, but I may have been drunk already.
I observed this exchange intently between succulent morsels of my calamari as did the rest of my party. Surprisingly, my apparently Cope-supporting colleague then came and took our top executive at the table by the hand and led him to go meet the former clergy man. I thought this was unprecedented; for one I would never lay my hands on our top exec and secondly; aren’t open displays of political affiliations discouraged in the work place? I thought so, but maybe it is acceptable to display them as long as you are on the “right” side.
I doubt I would have many friends left among the educated black colleagues and my white counterparts if I ever discussed my rather radical political ideology with any of them and the history that it stems from, but this was a Cope do, and all was accepted. Another man was then brought to our table for introductions, but I did not get his name because I had just finished my starter and needed a smoke desperately and I was going outside for one as he was approaching so I missed my opportunity. *Darn!*.
After my smoke, I had to struggle through a procession of admirers who were coming to pay their respects, show support and give encouragement to Dandala and also take pictures with the man. I swear it felt like I was at an exclusive country club dinner and everyone was congratulating the captain of the polo team who had won the fixture that day.
As I struggled past the crowd to my table, I noticed that my fillet main had been served, that brought a smile to my face and I took to it with the vigour expected of the Sumo. The crowd died down eventually as people returned to their seats and very expensive dinners, which also made me wonder where this recession was happening cause clearly it wasn’t happening in these circles, and Dandala and his party were allowed to order their meals.
At no time during my distanced encounter with Dandala did I feel his presence weigh down on me or did I get goosebumps from the sheer presence of the man. He was sitting closest to me and I didn’t even feel the urge to lower my voice, be politer than usual, be in awe of what the man stands to be — I did not feel as if I were in the presence of a future president of the republic. Maybe the Castles I had been consuming straight from the bottle, so township and unfitting of high society, had blunted my senses or maybe he just doesn’t have the stature of a president yet.
He is a very nice man though from what little I could tell, he seemed reserved and introverted though not really thoughtful. I got the sense of someone going along with the motion, I didn’t get the confidence and ambition of a leader ready to take the hottest seat in the country, dramatically change people’s lives and progress the programme to right the ills of the past. It was, however, very late and he had probably been out all day campaigning and giving speeches, which can be rather taxing as you can imagine. So maybe I read too much into his quiet demeanour.
A double Johnnie Walker Black for dessert and I encourage my party to call it a night, there was a Champions League semi and Vanessa, the lovely Zimbabwean bar lady, I needed to get back to the hotel I was sleeping at. I took one last glance at the man as I left and for a brief moment he held my gaze. I got the feeling that he was not surprised though not content about where he was in his political career and his chances this week in the election. There is a plan brewing there, past this week and the events of the 22nd of April are only the beginning.
As I drove back to my hotel with a posy consisting of a Kenyan, a Namibian, a Swazi and my friend who is an Afrikaner lady — I tried to explain to them who Dandala is, how he came to be in that position and what I think he stands for without being drawn on my own opinion on the matters of politics in my country — this is the professional thing to do.
The outcome of the game I was rushing to see was a foregone conclusion of course, but it was going to be sweet watching defeat written all over the Bayern players and fans as the final whistle went and them realising that the fat lady had finally sung her last song and all their hope had been lost and they had to wait until the next competition to again try to stake their claim on the crown.
I am in no doubt that they will build in the interim, acquire new talent, develop a unique game-plan and sharpen their attack — ready for the next fight. This will improve the competition and should level the playing field a little, which can never be a bad thing.
I rest.
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