Afly on the wall by David Moseley

David Moseley
I would imagine that for most people day-to-day life is a rather routine affair. Most of us get up, wander around the house scratching a bum cheek, hop in the shower (checking size of diminishing guns and expanding gut if there's a mirror near by), get dressed and head to work.
If you're in Joburg you sit in traffic for three days before you arrive in the office, if you're in Cape Town you get to the office, realise you've left your laptop at home, go back home, forget what you're doing there, have a nap and eventually get into the office around lunchtime where you discover 324 frantic messages from clients in the Joburg traffic. So that's your day. Pretty ordinary stuff.
But there are a lot of not-so-ordinary people out there, say, like the famous Mugabes from that place above South Africa which used to be a country, but is now more like a sandpit at a pre-school where the nasty kid kicks sand at the nice kids all day? and then punches them in the nose when they try to get out the firing line.
I wonder what the Mugabes get up to every day? I'm sure they don't sit in traffic - there certainly shouldn't be any traffic anyway if you consider that only five people can afford to buy the 17 litres of petrol that the country shares right now.
I imagine a Day In The Life of Robert and Grace to go a little something like this: His Excellency (this is what the official Zimbo government website calls him) Robert wakes up, rolls over and checks the polls. "Aah, 99% ahead of the opposition. It's going to be a good day. Comrade Butler?" Yes your Excellency of All Things African, Holy and Righteous on this, the Honourable African Continent Soon to Be Free of the White Peril? "Get me Comrade Joseph on the line, we need to torture at least one percent of the population today." Very well, sir.
That recipe from Idi
The lovely Grace arrives, flustered from an overnight flight from the shopping mecca of the Green Point Stadium flee market. "Robert, darling, turn on the television. You won't believe what they are saying about you." Oh Grace, it makes no difference to me, I can never tell who those people are. They all look the same to me. What's for breakfast my dear? "Well love, we have some left-over MDC Stew from last night." Oh lovely, is that the recipe Idi left for us. "That's right, and we have some extra feet that I can add from that last gang of unruly opposition supporters that we rounded up."
Robert stretches his weary limbs and heads for the door. "I have to head into the office today, dear. I need to make outlandish claims about the white imperialists claiming Zimbabwe for themselves. They want to rape and pillage our land and people?"
Grace and Robert stop, share eye contact and a knowing giggle. Oh Robbie, you're such a joker, we've done all that already. Ha ha ha. They clink together two glasses of champagne, laughing uncontrollably in their matching Gucci gowns, as another rollicking day in dusty Zimbabwe gets under way.
Your Excellency of all that is Free, Fair and Fabulous? "Yes Comrade?" There's a call on line two, a Mr Mbeki for you. "Never heard of him. Take a message and Morgan can get back to him when he's president." A glance at Grace, and a fit of laughter erupts again. Mwhahahahaha? good one Robbie dear, good one.
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