This isn’t goodbye

I hate goodbyes. I mean I hate hellos too because people exhaust me and sometimes I just don’t want to talk but goodbyes are the worst. I say this because when you fall for the trap of engaging in a conversation with someone and spark up some sort of rapport they reel you in with their wit and pretty soon you wonder where they have been your whole life – and then out of the blue they say ‘it’s been fun player but goodbye’. Buzzkill of note right?!

For the past year I have been traipsing across Swaziland visiting the various constituencies, engaging with Swazis from all over the country and basically doing what has eluded government for so long; decentralising (my) services. It was an experience I would not trade for anything because it allowed a girl with too many opinions the opportunity to have a look behind the political curtain and learn more about our politics.

I befriended some of the former MPs (I assume His Majesty King Mswati III did the right thing at the Sibaya and my referring to them as ‘former’ is not misplaced) and perhaps made mortal enemies of a few. During this time I also began covering Parliament with the ineffable Sky which was daunting for a girl whose aspirations were to be a novelist so that her words could sit somewhere on one of her father’s many bookshelves.
I began assuming the universe was trying to nudge me in the direction of a political future but having seen what lies behind the proverbial curtain I have been Ray Charles to the hints.

On these constituency visits a lot of things never made it into the paper because you would not believe me and you would feel compelled to be more appreciative of the paper everyday. I could never guilt trip you guys, but listen…

LUBULINI

When we went to Lubulini I was still working with the love of my life Bakhombisile Dlamini and we set off on a rainy Thursday morning armed with our notebooks, pens, boots, curiosity and a vague idea of our destination. The MP Timothy Myeni opted to ‘show’ us the projects which had been completed in his term telephonically. So there we were asking kind-hearted Swazis where this was and that was, once that was done we had to talk to the people of the area about what they thought about Swazi politics and their MP. A group of ‘friendly’ guys called us over and once marriage proposals were out of the way they spoke candidly about Myeni. This conversation, however, was held in an unfinished building in the middle of a field where they were sitting around a fire. I was blinking furiously to try and keep my eyes from watering lest those ‘charming’ men thought me crying during an interview was unprofessional.

LOBAMBA LOMDZALA

Let’s be real meeting a seasoned politician like Marwick Khumalo was easily the most daunting experience of the series but he was quick to put us at ease. We met a sprightly 88-year-old man with a head full of white hair who looked right past us and started chanting “Hawu Days and Weeks, Weeks and Company libuyaphi liNtungwelihle?” it was chuckle-worthy and gave me insight on why this man who was a parliamentary force and neighbourhood legend was able to impress in the august House and also on the streets of his constituency where he was not above gate crashing a chicken dust meal of airtime vendors. Or we just got played by a political mastermind.

PIGG’S PEAK

By this visit Bakho had gone to school because I advised her to pursue degrees before capitalist bondage so I was now ace out. I got to Pigg’s Peak and at the very first stop the company car broke down and I spent the day lying under a tree at Pigg’s Peak Nazarene High School sharing my plight on Facebook. I got no work done that day because another car was commissioned to come and tow us back to Mbabane. I was unimpressed because I don't get out of bed for anything less than total productivity. Or winegums.

NGUDZENI

This trip was cursed. There is no other explanation for it besides the supernatural. I confirmed the visit with the MP Big Boy Mamba and on the way encountered a horrific accident at Ngculwini - my shock for the people came later because my initial thought was ‘ugh does this mean I now have to cover this accident?’but the good people at Swazi News bailed a perpetually tired girl out. When I got to eNgudzeni the MP was nowhere to be found and had stopped taking my calls. When he eventually did answer the phone two days later (When Sky called him, because I was obviously a pariah) he said “ngiphatsekile Msime mtjele abhale lalanako” my feelings of thinly veiled disdain for the Mamba clan can be traced to this incident.

EKUKHANYENI

Clement Dlamini berated me. Like a child. While I was on the job. And then proceeded to show me about three projects in a very large constituency. I tried to be impressed but I kept thinking that to be an effective politician one does not need to be a dictator. Or at least one should be a polite dictator.
It was especially sad on Wednesday when MPs said their goodbyes. I remembered everything and wondered if the Tenth Parliament would be as entertaining. One can only hope.
 

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