Nkandla report: The end is nigh for some as we've clearly been 'naai'ed' - to coin an Afrikaans expression

As an advocate for transparency, yet I hope one still prepared to accept differing perspectives upon which to debate and eventually draw my own resultant conclusions; I just cannot understand what on earth Zuma's advisors were thinking here.  This flies in the face of logic, let alone any form of sensitivity to the status of the country and the millions of impoverished, or even the call for basic, appropriate budgeting for such a requirement.  It smacks of ignorance, arrogance and blatant indifference if not mere mental retardation.

I see no way out of this one for Zuma now.. Time for 'the people' to wake up and smell the rot in some quarters me thinks... (read the full Mail & Guardian Article: http://mg.co.za/article/2013-11-28-nkandla-report-zuma-in-the-deep-end/)

Voter Apathy: An Inconvenient Truth

The official statistics showing the level of voter apathy amongst the South African youth in the upcoming elections should be a major concern in terms of stifling potential political change.  More alarming however is the apparent lack of understanding of how democracy can work for one. 

Perhaps it has suited some political parties, strategically, to keep the potential voters from understanding this powerful tool out of deserved fear.  What is of particular concern is the fact that so many of the youth (18 years+) having become disenchanted by the ANC’s rather dismal record, greed, corruption, cronyism, poor management, misspending and lack of delivery against promises made, and yet still don’t feel that there is an alternative to vote for to affect appropriate change.   Either that or the other major parties haven’t done a particularly good job in marketing themselves effectively to the most important market of all, ‘the future’.  This is a very sad indictment in so far as our future political landscape is concerned, tantamount to short-term accounting and a massive opportunity should any particular party set their eyes and ears firmly on the future. 

The Malemas of this world may be somewhat delusional, but they have a very strong point in recognising the plight of the youth of this country, particularly under the current financial crisis, fuelled by the ANC’s fraught education system debacle.  There is an undercurrent of an angry youth worldwide (note those behind the burgeoning Arab Spring around the world), and we must not be complacent in our belief that this is not a bubbling issue for our own beloved country.

So, here’s hoping that our good and honest politicians (note the oxymoron), take heed and address the real concerns of our disenfranchised youth before it all ends in tears.

The Philosophy of Life Summed Up in Minutes

On visiting the magnificent (and magnificently poor and rather run down - in parts) Eastern Cape recently, I was encouraged by my oldest son to take him through to Grahamstown for the day.  No he didn't want to visit the Albany Museum, nor take in a poetry lecture at Rhodes University; instead he wanted to visit about 5 'girl-friends' who happen to go to school there.  It’s a long story, but I'll leave that for him to write about one day.  Being a generous dad-sort, I obliged, and thought that the drive alone would be good time spent together catching up on things one doesn't often get the opportunity to share with a teenage son in this hectic lifestyle we appear to have been sucked into.

Fortunately for me at least, one of the girl’s dad’s, Justin, hearing of my pending visit to his farm’s nearby town, arranged to meet me for a drink at the infamous Albany Club.  Now The Albany Club, for those who don't know, is the old ‘gentlemen’s’ club of old, steeped in tradition, wooden panelling, historical pictures wall-to-wall and old taxidermied animal heads.  Heads of beasts that once roamed the area in their wild habitat, now peering through glassy eyed stares at the thousands of events and boozy buggers who have propped up the bar counter over the centuries.  It is a place that only relatively recently has allowed Jews, women and non-white folk to enter the front door, let alone become members (although few seem to have taken up the opportunity it seems despite Xhosa being a prominent language amongst the local white farmers who frequent the place).

An incredible place, The Albany Club, in that despite being a Jo’burg born and bred, and Cape Town based for a decade and a half, I knew virtually every person in that bar that day.  It was wonderful, and only something that can happen in a small-town place like Grahamstown.  The familiarity of everyone is intriguing, and yet despite nuances of ‘vibes’ both good and not so good being evident between them, there was a general courtesy and banter even amongst the biggest rivals.  I say ‘rivals’ purely because the one bloke had stolen the other bloke's girlfriend from him at the age of 14 at Peps Palace in Kenton-on-Sea back in 1980, and the other had never forgiven the bugger.  The latter term of which I don’t mean literally, of course. 

Whilst ‘kuiering’ (visiting and indulging) with these fine lads, a big brawly farmer, whom I hadn't seen in years, came up to greet me, and flattered me like only a brawly farmer with hands rough and the size of wickey gloves can do to a city slicker like me.  He said, “-ell Greg..”, with rolled accent on the ‘r’ you understand, this is the Eastern Cape afterall, “..I see you’re quite the philosopher ol’ chap..”.  To my surprise, not only to his complimentary meaning of ‘philosopher’ being attributed to me, but the fact that he is an avid Facebook reader it seems.  Reader is the operative word, in that I have never seen him write a damn thing in return, merely scanning the sites for updates on who’s doing whom and what around the world perhaps?  I know that there are many of my vintage who do the same.

Nevertheless, despite his flattering comments, I was recently sent a copy of an address made by an Aussie comic and graduate of the University of Western Australia (UWA), Tim Minchin, on receiving an Honorary Doctorate, which I thought summed up life rather well.  Philosophically speaking of course.  And so, rather than attempt to compete with such brilliance, thought I’d rather share it with all of you.  Enjoy.. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yoEezZD71sc#t=714

Cynical on the Syrian Scenario

Call me a cynic, but I'm not convinced by the US and UK’s intended approach on Syria.  Why?  Well not because I think that what the Syrian government and their forces are doing is worth supporting, however I just don’t believe that US Intelligence is what it used to be.  Having served with Nato Intelligence myself on operations within the SA Navy in the late ‘80’s, I am not coming from an entirely naive perspective here.   I don’t think that one has to be a rocket scientist to have some scepticism when it comes to the US Propaganda Machine and the nonsense it churns out to unsuspecting middle-class America as untampered, legit proof of anything.  The Russians are not convinced, nor are somewhat more astute ordinary Americans and Brits this time around it seems, judging by recent poles, as to their government’s intent on going to war against Syria merely based upon the notion that the Syrian government backed army  used chemical weapons. 

I'm not saying that their information is definitely incorrect either.  However evidence seems to be mounting as to a rebel led tactic of using chemical weapons themselves on innocent people in order to provoke a seemingly gullible US/UK led attack on the Syrian army.   By all accounts, this tactic seems to be working.  One can reasonably doubt the power of a rebel PR machine so powerful so as to have even the usually gullible American ‘man in the street’ questioning their government’s apparent gung-ho stance.  Perhaps the lessons of Vietnam, Iran, Iraq, Kuwait and Afghanistan are coming home to roost?

Either way, if I were to be giving any advice to my old Intel colleagues of old, it would be to make damn sure this time, and to keep emotions and political agendas out of it completely (if that’s possible).  Otherwise weigh up pretty smartly the consequences of mayhem in the Middle East (which will undoubtedly flow), not to mention the costly damage to homes and infrastructure as well as the innocent death toll. 

There may be another agenda at play here, and these two countries don’t have a particularly great track record at toppling regimes and replacing them with something much better now do they?  For more: http://www.washingtontimes.com/news/2013/may/6/syrian-rebels-used-sarin-nerve-gas-not-assads-regi/

Women’s Day Conundrum

This is a subject that I fear requires some sensitive treading, as it could easily result in tears or worse.  An analogy perhaps that best describes one possible outcome is the explosion I once remember as a child, which occurred in our home kitchen when the pressure cooker lid simply exploded away from the pot, sending boiling, sticky stew across the entire room from ceiling to floor.  So I intend to tread lightly, although perhaps reluctantly, and I hope you'll appreciate why I say so.

Anyone who knows me well will know that I love and have always loved and respected women dearly my entire life.  I'm not merely talking about women in the sexual or sensual sense however, but rather holistically in the very sense of the word ‘love’ together with its many different facets and manifestations.   Having grown up in a rather female dominated extended family on my mother’s side, in terms of men and boys being totally outnumbered, I suppose it could either have been inevitable or perhaps the polar opposite.  My mother was one of three sisters, and my gran and her own three sisters, the sole survivors of a family of 5 siblings, where the menfolk died relatively early.  Extended family get-togethers were boisterous to say the least, with many high pitched female voices jostling for attention and very often all talking across one another in a cacophony of sound that only one born into such a family could find endearing.  My father and my aunts’ two husbands were simply drowned out, and usually retreated to the safety of the braai (bbq) area for a welcome reprieve perhaps.  

As kids however it was an extraordinarily exciting and colourful exposure to the passion and complexity of women of all ages, and far more exciting to be in the lounge or kitchen, than standing around the braai with business and sport being the sum total of the conversation. With the women, conversation was far more liberal in every sense of the word, emotional, feisty, yet always passionate, caring and nurturing.  Ok, sometimes a bit bitchy, but not often.  As children we were brought up to be seen and very much heard, encouraged to say one’s bit no matter how trivial it may seem.  If you didn't, then you would simply be drowned out by the loud natter and simply slide into the background of the room with little attention or sympathy for that matter.  Best then to rather join the lads at the braai.  But the women’s conversation was always far more interesting and stimulating.  I suppose the fact that they were all highly intelligent women had a lot to do with it, despite all being housewives, they had opinions on everything and strong ones at that.  It’s an environment that I still find myself drawn to at parties, perhaps tiring of the 2 dimensional conversation around the braai, I tend to find myself drawn to the kitchen very often.     

It is with this background in mind that I find the concept of Women’s Day somewhat bizarre and rather patronizing.  I know that there are many women who strongly believe in its purpose and rightful place on the calendar of public holidays.  However, having come from a family were respect and love for women was not only common place and good old fashioned manners strongly entrenched, but also an appreciation for the fact that women could do anything they set their minds to.  I therefore find the generalised drivel us men are constantly bombarded with in the media about ‘women’s oppression’ and ‘men not being sensitised’ or all portrayed as ‘bullying brutes’ rather hurtful if not darn right insulting.  I know I'm not alone here, as most of my own mates most certainly hold the very same ideals, (though many wiser fellows would not have opened themselves up to this debate).  These sweeping statements about female oppression in society need to be kept in check and put into perspective.  Sure we understand that many men are ignorant outside of stereotypical social ‘norms’, and that there are men who rape and plunder.  But to give the impression and paint all men with the same broad tar brush is ridiculous. 

I find it amusing that were one to make similar stereotypical comments about a race group or culture (or women for that matter), as many women do about men, one would be had up for racism, xenophobia or sexism without hesitation.  Generalised sweeping statements have no place in this world, and that goes for social oppression and sexism.  It is simply a lazy uncouth way of grouping people together in one’s own stratified mind.  That way you can be sure that you will garner much more support from guys who sympathise with your honourable desire to get more males to open their hearts and minds and take up the battle alongside you, if not simply see women as equals.

You've been fleeced by your own mates..

I don't feel that great about having contributed significantly to the massive bonuses paid by the big 5 SA construction companies and their alliance partners.  Bonuses paid to their directors, thanks to their corrupt contract rigging and profiteering that went on between them in the lead up to and post the SA Soccer World Cup. To think, that the cost of the World Cup preparation was boosted purely by greed and personal bonus gain.  I know of a few, who suddenly became debauchedly wealthy during that time. 

Interesting how those folk, always quick to jump on the 'political corruption' bandwagon are rather quiet at times like this.  We're talking Billions of Rands here, and yet it's not a major newspaper headline on every paper in the country or news network. Why is it that the likes of Brett Kebble, Peter Gardener (Leisurenet), Glenn Agliotti, Dave King (hiding out in Australia), John Stratton (hiding out in Australia too), Greg Blank and their ilk (all of a pale hue incidentally), are not seen in the same light as our most corrupt of politicians.  Double standards, racism?  I'm not sure. These companies have fleeced far more from from the state coffers, contributed by you and I the tax payer, and unsuspecting shareholders, than Jacob Zuma and all his cronies put together - allegedly..  We should be outraged!

I'm often intrigued as to how it is that the most vocal of doomsayers in this country and many of those who have emigrated it seems, are the very same people who run red lights, complain about taxi drivers, political corruption, traffic and police corruption and the like.  Yet ironically it is often these very same people, many of them friends and family members of many of us, who head up some of these organisations and those who are quick on the draw in pulling out their wallets when stopped for a traffic violation.  

Corruption breeds corruption, and those who paid our corrupt arms deal negotiators (German, Scandinavian, French, British arms dealers and others), tax dodgers, and those who attempt to pay off traffic cops and rig contracts are all just as vile as the people who accept them.  The same goes for large financial institutions that have gambled the money of trusting, unsuspecting investors to the point of destroying the global economy, yet not their own wealth ironically.  I don't see too many of them in jail or getting angry on the streets of Athens, Cairo or Paris.  They're all playing golf and sipping on Johnny Walker 'Deep Purple' at the same golf courses as the likes of Schabir Shaik and Agliotti, whilst eating sushi off naked ladies navels all with your hard earned tax paying money. 

Perhaps the 'Arab Spring' should refocus its aim at the source of their pain, not the symptom.  This is just the tip of the iceberg, and sadly it's a growing global phenomenon.  It is up to each one of us to stop it in its tracks.

For more on this story.. http://mg.co.za/article/2013-07-19-00-the-flaw-that-broke-the-construction-cartels-back

African Safari - July 2013 - 10th Day in the Bush

Always sad to have to pack up from any holiday, but for me particularly so from the bushveld or Kasouga (another favourite). Something keeps nagging me; 'Why don't you just live here..?!'. I suppose it's the so called 'real world' and all of it's 'real world realities' that play havoc with my head. Nice to know it's always here though until I can find a way to do it for a little longer each time.

Tonight was an exceptional final night though. The boys having cleaned the Landcruiser whilst we packed up things this afternoon, we drove the last few bags of recycling and rubbish to the dump a few km's away and swapped vehicles near there for the 'real world city slicker version' to take us back to Jo'burg, putting the cover on the old faithful Cruiser to rest 'til next time.

On getting back we settled down for a final sundower around the fire in the boma as the sun started to wane and the backdrop turned from yellow to orange to dark African red.

As we sat there chatting about the past 10 days, there was a loud trumpeting from behind the house, which shut us all up rather quickly. The boys ran to the sides of the house to see if they could spot what the elephant was angry about (usually something like a lion in its way which meant that the poor ousted beast might be scuttling our way looking for a safe exit).  And as if from nowhere an entire herd of 20-30 or more elephant appeared from the trees behind the house and at speed headed down our dirt driveway straight towards the house. 


Quick as a flash we grabbed the few bits and pieces worth grabbing, (in my case a magnificent bottle of Australia's finest, a Wendouree Shiraz 1993, my last bottle..), and headed for the stairs and safety of the front deck. The herd was fast, and on reaching the back of the house then split, half going around one side, the other half the other side, straight past the open boma where we had just been seconds before. One young bull elephant stopped beside the boma for an inquisitive sniff of the fire (or perhaps it was the foreign scented Wendouree?), and then with clouds of dust they simply settled into a relaxed mode, wandering around the front 'garden' munching from the thorn trees and down to the water's edge for a drink. Trunks of all sizes dipping down into the river and curling back up into their open mouths. This continued for some time until the sun had set and my fire was beginning to burn out, much in need of a log to keep it alive. But venturing down there then with protective mother ellies on high alert with a few tiny youngsters about and frustrated young bulls would have been unwise.

After this most brilliant display, as if to day "so long", the matriarch gave her typical low rumbling purr and they all stopped what they were doing and followed off along the bank up river, disappearing as quickly as they had appeared.

So finally we were able to head back down to the boma and rebuff the dying embers. Some, it must be said were a little more cautious and found chores to do within the house for a while before venturing out again. But venture out they all eventually did.

Onto the perfect coals (thanks to some unbelievably hard knobthorn logs) our last 1.8 kg chunk of well aged sirloin, bought from my mate Steve Maresch-Botha of The Local Grill fame, marinated earlier in olive oil and rubbed in his secret rub, with some additional course salt and cracked pepper on the fat side, nothing more. A few turns on the open fire grid later, perfection personified, even if I say so myself.

After dins, Dyl and I headed back out to the boma, spotting a large hippo venturing out for a night's grazing. Fire stoked a little, though no new logs needed, Dominican cigar clipped and ignited with on end of a firery red log, and I was like a bushpig in truffledom. An incredible end to another great stay in my one of favourite places in the world, the wild African bush.