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110 | denis beckett<br />
order-papers and compromise, and complaining about the<br />
apathy of the masses. What would it matter whether Mabuza<br />
was a Swazi or a Zoroastrian? Those who wanted would vote for<br />
him; those who did not would not; and the whole bunch would<br />
be chained to the effects of a sound political foundation.<br />
after rattling about in Mabuza’s cupboard and finding no<br />
skeletons I prepared a batch of questions. a plot was forming.<br />
I was sick of finding feet of clay beneath the “positive” stories<br />
which kept coming up in the newspapers. Drum magazine,<br />
for instance, ran a feature called “Masterpiece in Bronze”, to<br />
demonstrate black success. Once the chosen success was a<br />
youthful entrepreneur who wore white suits and white shoes<br />
and drove a white rolls royce. The story was lyrical about the<br />
reach of his business empire but was coy about the nature of<br />
the empire, which was mandrax and extortion. My plot was to<br />
do a real success story, whole and unmistakable: Mabuza.<br />
unfortunately, the sleuthing involved more momentum<br />
than planning, and what with ambling along back roads and<br />
overnighting at a farm and dawdling at villages I lost track of<br />
the Karos hotel at Kanyamazane where I was to meet Mabuza<br />
at 12.30.<br />
Mid morning I found myself driving faster than sanity or<br />
speedcops permit and then my car sprang a nervous tic in its<br />
timing, giving an almighty backfire every few minutes. I hurtled<br />
through the wondrous hills of the eastern Transvaal like a<br />
constipated kangaroo on steroids, wreaking damage to my<br />
spinal cord but mindful of the social error of keeping the chief<br />
Minister twiddling thumbs in the heart of his own bailiwick.<br />
Mabuza was still there when I hopped up the Karos drive<br />
an hour late, and greeted me with every iota of his ineffable<br />
courtesy. He gets my vote, anywhere, anytime.<br />
I never finished the Mabuza article. It got on top of me. This<br />
was a frequent fate of the stuff I was keenest on. I’d get three<br />
quarters through and think it had to be better, it had to be fuller.<br />
Practicalities would intervene and particularly the practicality<br />
called “paying the printer”. Drafts of the articles I liked too