Same as it ever was
It’s been 30 years of democracy in action, and Zuma still wins, writes Aspasia Karras
Afriend of mine threw a party for a significant birthday. His chosen theme was Once In A Lifetime, the title of the Talking Heads song — that existential cri de couer —a plaintive cry from the heartland of the midlife crisis.
Obviously he picked the song as an ironic gesture and is definitely not suffering from rhetorical, ignominious challenges brought on by depleting testosterone and the looming effects of increased proximity to the grave. How to answer these dread questions?
“Is this my beautiful wife, is this my beautiful house?” Early onset Alzheimer’s aside, this stuff is real and set on repeat for most of us.
The party goers, myself included, opted for the obvious choices — sartorially representative of a crowd caught up in the “once in a lifetime” narrative. The smattering of brides, priests, prostitutes, angels, a person in a latex body suit, cyclists’s lycra and Grizelda — all valiant stabs at the theme.
But most party punters opted for,
“same as it ever was ”— the classic refrain — and came dressed pretty much as themselves — all rough edges and the glad rags they’ve reserved for these sorts of things.
It was a bracing reminder of how
“the water flows” and all of that, and immediately put me in mind of former president Donald Trump, whose court case involving the “hush money” for Stormy Daniels, the erstwhile porn star and now sought-after pundit on numerous platforms, has all the makings of a refrain for just this kind of anthemic number. “How did I get here?” Again?
My answer to the questions generating in my head every time I see the Don glowering at the camera, his jowls angrily remonstrating with his tan line, small mouth drawn into a furious pucker and then expelling the usual gumph about the deep state conspiracy and the set-up that other “antique” is orchestrating against him and his newly minted presidential bid and resultant glorious vision for our future — is always, “yes”.
A resounding, “yes”! Yes — this is your one, beautiful life. Yes, you did not manage to get a beautiful wife but soz, you’re doomed my friend. Doomed to eternal reruns of this silly, silly story. There will always be this guy, always in a bad 1980s suit and a fake tan taking the pee on his good-hair day.
“Oh”, says the voice in my head, you think you are absolved because you live in SA? The answer: “No, dear one! You have the Zuma rerun to contend with”.
Because, why not? That is 30 years of democracy in action. You get your trial, you get off, you get your firepool and you get to do it all again —“Water flowing underground”, as the lyrics from the
Talking Heads song go — this time with tighter marketing, MK uniforms and an energy drink called Viva.
This is all great, really, because if you’re going to be marching to the beat of your own drum you need a pick-me-up by way of industrial quantities of caffeine.
Here’s the bottom line: Zuma wins! Every time! How did I get here? These really are his multiple beautiful wives, and this really is his beautiful Zulu homestead. And it really is his beautiful party — same as it ever was.