Ten years ago I went to live in Nzalabantu, a Zulu tribal area close to the RBM mine.
I went through the customary channels to acquire land, first obtaining the Induna’s permission and then the community’s blessing.
My son attended one of the nearby primary schools, where he was the first and only white pupil.
For two years we were members of that community and both my son and I have only fond memories of those times ‘living in real Zululand’.
I still have daily contact with some former neighbours and visit my old neighbourhood regularly.
Thanks to the community’s open-mindedness and kindness we got to experience what few whites ever will. For that we are forever grateful.
I truly cannot recall any negative incidents, except for one – the day representatives of a certain political party paid me a visit.
They arrived in two expensive black SUVs, wearing extravagant, tailor-made party-political outfits.
They had heard about the white man living in the area and thought I would perhaps be willing to promote their cause.
Promoting their party meant I had to be seen prancing around the area with a boot-load of ‘free’ branded apparel.
They reasoned that everybody within a 10km radius knew me and talked about me, so if they saw me wearing party XYZ’s ‘lovely’ coloured T-shirt – the one with the dubious leader on the front – they would vote for that party in the next election.
And they probably guessed right, because the people there did like and respect me.
Apart from enough ‘free’ clothing to dress the entire KZN, they also promised me a generous amount of cash in return for being their walking advertising board.
However, what the party’s representatives guessed wrongly, was that I was not going to get involved in politics – for no amount of money, no matter how substantial it was.
It would have been asking for trouble and I therefore rejected their offer.
I was very angry at the time, but now, 10 years later, even more so.
Visiting my old neighbours, it’s obvious the politicians have done absolutely zero for them.
Where are the tarred roads?
Where are the waste removal services?
And the street lights, schools, hospitals, a post office, a police station? Where is the infrastructure they deserve?
What there is has all been supplied by the nearby mine.
So, I want to ask my old neighbours – why do you keep on believing the politicians?
When I visit, I see my son’s friends, now all in their 20s, sitting around under trees, waiting for the promises of prosperity which will never materialise.
Those promises were and are as empty as the look of despair in their eyes.
So I want to know, why do you keep falling for all the lies and T-shirts?
What will it take for you to realise that politicians – dressed in black, yellow, red, green or blue – care less about you or the future of your children, than they do about themselves?
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