THE perception that Cape Town is an adventurous city is one that endures, and upcountry folk who take their holidays here remain convinced that we have a readiness to step outside our comfort zones and experience more extreme and exotic cultural practices that is perhaps missing in, let’s just say, their necks of the wood.
Why else would carriages on the Southern Suburbs line continue to be so liberally plastered with notices boasting the miracle services provided by Professor Omar, Dr Mama Ruby and the like?
Metrorail continues to enthrall and on those days that I’ve been compelled to use the train I come away amazed at what an exciting business it is.
This is especially true of the MetroPlus carriages. Back in the day, incidentally, this was officially designated first class but, in effect, was really lower middle class simply because the well-booted didn’t use public transport.
Here at the Mahogany Ridge we suspect it’s now called MetroPlus because it’s such a value-added travel experience.
The seats have been slashed to ribbons and there are strange puddles on the floor. Plus there are blind beggars singing about Jesus, rabid preachers loudly sharing their delusions with commuters, and hawkers and allsorts wandering up and down selling everything from crunchy edibles of an orange day-glo hue to all manner of smart phone paraphernalia.
Should this motley crew not be around for entertainment, one can always approach the graffiti in much the same way archeologists study rock art. What is that peculiar sausage-like squiggle with the big ears? What did Marvin do that people can say such things about his mother? Can Julie really be capable of that?
And, as mentioned, there’s the mess of stickers advising that specialists in diverse dark arts have got your number vis-a-vis same-day abortions, drooping manhood, debt relief and winning the lottery.
One new service, yet to be advertised on the train, is the provision of miraculous spells that fulfil patients’ political aspirations.
According to a report in The Times, interest in the forthcoming local government elections has resulted in a demand for such sorcery in other parts of the country and it surely can only be a matter of weeks before commuters boarding at Retreat and Plumstead stations are informed of the consultation hours at their nearest convenient surgery should they wish “to be a councillor . . . or a big politician”.
As you can imagine, it’s not cheap. One unidentified practitioner told the newspaper that, to be a public servant, the consultation process started at R50 a pop. “I can’t tell you the total price,” he said. “But this is a big job so it will be more than R50.”
A whole lot more, according to Sazi Mhlongo, the president of the South African Traditional Healers’ Association. He was quoted by the newspaper as saying, “People who think they can become politicians and get R1-million from their R10 000 by using human body parts and illegal practices are just stupid.”
And it is stupid. Just ask Beaufort West’s mayor, Truman Prince. He could explain that an easier way to get money is to ensure lucrative tenders are awarded to firms sympathetic to the ruling party. They, in turn, then donate generously to the ANC.
Of course, the party does want to speak to Prince about these embarrassing allegations. The DA, meanwhile, are pursuing corruption charges, and there is talk that Prince may even lose his job. Will Omar, Mama Ruby, et al, shortly be seeing prospective mayoral candidates? Time will tell.
Then again, and unlike Western Cape ANC leader Marius Fransman, who’s now been told to step down for reasons of “integrity”, Prince obviously leads a charmed life, considering how he has emerged unscathed from previous controversies.
He once told Beaufort West residents to attack police when they were searching and arresting suspected criminals, and in 2011 pleaded guilty to charges of driving under the influence of alcohol and paid a R2 000 fine.
He was arrested on charges of “riotous behaviour” in 2005 after a row with a television crew. They were covering the story of how he’d been caught on camera making advances to a 14-year-old.
That same year, the Cape Argus reported that, when Prince was a teacher in the 1990s, he’d fathered a daughter with a 16-year-old schoolgirl. But, he said, she had been “big-boned and looked 18 or 19”.
It may well be that Prince pays a premium for his muti but it’s got the mojo stuff. He should do the done thing and put Fransman in touch with his man.
A version of this article first appeared in the Weekend Argus.
