Fairy Tales are the very fabric of South African politics. The fantastical mixes with reality, and at the end no one can distinguish the one from the other. Professionals call this Realpolitik and spin happily away.

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A fairy tale – by Jonathan Moremi

There once in a far away country called Mzansi lived a President by the name of Cyril Teflon Ramaphosa. The President was a jolly man and much loved by his people, because he always smiled, no matter how hungry they went. He could talk for hours without saying anything, and that endeared him to his followers, who feared nothing more than to have to ponder over content that would have strained their brains and would make them feel miserable.

The President lived in a beautiful mansion in a leafy neighbourhood of the rich, because the President was a man of the people.

One day, a story made the rounds that a certain man by the name of Hangwani Maumela was involved in a crime syndicate that had looted R2 billion through tenders. That was not a nice story to hear, but Cyril Teflon Ramaphosa kept smiling, as he always did.

Then it was rumoured that said fraudster was a nephew of the President, and the smile was not seen in public anymore.

Luckily for the President, he had a jester, as has been common practice at royal courts throughout history. His name was Tencniv Aynewgam, which was hard to pronounce, but not even half as hard as hearing him talk. Aynewgam had learned from his mother at a tender age how to spin a fine yarn and discovered to his surprise in adulthood that he just could not kick the habit. So he became the spin doctor to Cyril Teflon Ramaphosa, in order for the President to be able to always smile.

When the unpleasant story was told in the streets of Mzansi that Maumela was the nephew of the President, spin doctor, or more respectfully jester, Aynewgam was called, and he explained to the men and women in the presidential courtyard that Cyril Teflon Ramaphosa did not know the gentleman, in fact was not even related to him, as he, the President, had only been married to Maumela’s aunt. For that reason the nephew was not even family.

In that far away land called Mzansi, culture had it that a nephew was not a nephew if he was the nephew of his aunt who one marries. In fact, one could only become the uncle to a nephew by direct link, and therefore the President would have had to have married his sister to make a nephew who was her nephew his nephew too. Which, however, would not work if her nephew was actually his son. Genealogy in Mzansi is complicated.

The people of Mzansi were very happy to hear that the nephew of the President was not his nephew as he was only the nephew to the aunt who the President had married, and everybody returned to work, or unemployment, whichever was the case.

Soon afterwards however jester Aynewgam had to be called again, because now a moving picture of little size was distributed that showed President Cyril Teflon Ramaphosa in front of the house of the nephew who was not his nephew and not even family. And everybody got upset and wanted to know why the President who did not know the nephew who was not his nephew would stand in front of the house of said non-nephew and had a jolly good chat with three other men and whether they too had nephews who were not really nephews.

To these questions, jester Aynewgam angrily shook his head so hard that the little bells on the floppy points of his hat emitted queer sounds like a Sibiya calling when insisting it did not have a relation with a Mogotsi (Sibiyas and Mogotsis are indigenous birds of a feather in Mzansi that show deep bonding despite breeding in different environments).

There was nothing to the President walking past the house of his nephew who was not his nephew, said jester Aynewgam sternly. In fact, the President did not even know the house belonged to his nephew who he did not know as he was not family. Which sounded reasonable, as said house was close to the President’s house, in fact not even 1,000 metres away. And the closer your relatives live, the more you want to forget knowing them.

The President just loved a good walk, to keep fit, explained jester Aynewgam, and as common security practice of presidents has it, he chose a road that is frequented by many who come from the north and drive to the south or from the south to the north, and there was nothing to it and certainly no danger to the President as the road did not service people who travelled from the west to the east or from the east to the west, so any danger to a President having a good walk with an adviser could not go wrong. Especially, as assassinations of politicians one does not agree with are practically unheard of in Mzansi.

There was a lot of exited whispering in the presidential courtyard amongst the people that had gathered there, when jester Aynewgam went on to explain that all rumours that the President even knew his nephew and had visited him on a weekly basis were completely ludicrous. It was merely so that in the garden of the house of the nephew who was not a real nephew stood a beautiful Hibiscus tree and the President was an ardent lover of Hibiscus trees and sneaked occasionally into the garden of the unknown nephew to smell the wonderful scent of the Hibiscus flower, but he never did that on a weekly basis because the President was far too busy and could not possibly visit anyone every week, not even a Hibiscus.

In fact, jester Aynewgam explained, there were only two people the President regularly visited, one being his sister who lived in Soweto. That being a township far away from the leafy neighbourhood with the rich people. Which is perhaps for the better, because the President might otherwise have been tempted to marry his sister, which would have left him with a nephew that was indeed his nephew. And God knows what that boy would have been up to once he was fully grown.

The only reason why all of this happened, jester Aynewgam explained further while excitedly shaking his marotte, was, because when Cyril Teflon Ramaphosa was happily walking with his adviser through the street that people used to travel from the north to the south and from the south to the north (but luckily not from the west to the east nor the east to the west!), a car stopped and who should jump out but a DJ and a Bishop, two members of artistic professions who are known to regularly travel together. In joining the President and his adviser it was now a jolly group of four, and whether the other two had nephews too who were not really nephews, jester Aynewgam could not say. But chance, or fate, had it that the DJ and the Bishop felt the urge to jump out of their car at exactly the moment the President and his adviser were innocently passing the house of said nephew who was no nephew and not even family.

Everyone who knows that far away land called Mzansi, however, knows that walking through neighbourhoods is difficult as there are no pavements, therefore pedestrians have to walk in the street. So much more surprising, it was noticed that the President who walked the street to keep fit should be met by the DJ and the Bishop not in the street, as the moving picture of little size showed, but in the driveway of the house of the nephew he did not know because he was no nephew and not even family.

The President must have been at the Hibiscus again, murmured jester Aynewgam, but did not say it out loud because he did not want President Cyril Teflon Ramaphosa to lose his smile.

And so, as no further questions were answered, the crowd dispersed, the dust slowly settled over the presidential courtyard, and everyone returned to their work or unemployment and lived happily ever after.

Or at least until the next disclosure at the Madlanga commission. In Mzansi, happiness never lasts long.

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If you want more fairy tales of quality, don’t miss the book by Tencniv Aynewgam, ”Fantastical Spins” that is out now and selling like hot cake. See the flyer below.