I have these pictures in my head™

I have these pictures in my head. Pictures of people and places I have seen. It’s my memories in colour. I wish I had them in little picture boxes to share. But I don’t. I just have these pictures in my head.

Pictures of the Pink Market in Bamako, Mali. The sea of colour spread as far as the eye can see. Clothes and textiles hanging from every stall, tent and shop. Shirts of gold, blue, white – all shades and colours, more than the rainbow can give. Shirts and tunics and dresses hanging everywhere. And the women in their bright clothes and big smiles. Mulling around and laughing and talking. Neighbours during the day and friends at night.

Pictures of Soweto Market in Lusaka. Taxi’s everywhere. The minibus taxi’s. Blue and yellow or whatever spraypaint they could get their hands on. The backyard mechanics working at the stop street. Welding “new” exhaust pipes on cars still idling. And the tables with their variety of goods spread out. Fresh fruits and vegetables – oranges, carrots, potatoes, apples and everything you would want. And don’t forget the nsima and stewed beef. Or the dried Mopani worms ready for a salad – like croutons. And the men sitting in the alley’s drinking beer and talking soccer. Pictures of life and living.

Pictures of the arts and craft sellers on the side of the road on the way to Masvingo in Zimbabwe. Two or three soccer fields big. Sellers and artists a meter or two apart. Row upon row. With a government agent standing out acting as a seller. But the suit and the sunglasses give them away. They’ve  watched too many Western spy movies. But the artists sit there with a dusty backdrop and the beautiful Zimbabwe hills scattered around them. And their art. Art of wooden carved heads, soapstone mother-and-child abstracts, traditional clothes and much, much more. Just more and more – row upon row. Fields of art. And fields of people.

So many pictures. The flower sellers in Cape Town with their wide smiles and Table Mountain backdrop. Fisherman in Hout Bay coming in with their catch. Rows and rows of construction and more construction in Abuja, Nigeria. Carpets of trees as far as the eye can see when flying over the Cameroon jungle. The Danube with the spectacular Buda Castle as a backdrop in Budapest, Hungary. Lake Geneva from the window of a train. The Sun and Moon Pyramids in Mexico standing tall with cities of ancient civilizations scattered around and underground. So many pictures.

But my pictures can’t tell you of the smells, sounds and tastes that lingers in my mind.

I can hear the Cape Town flower sellers shouting funny lines to get you to buy their flowers. “Two Rand a bunch”. Or the ice-cream guy shouting, “A lolly to make you jolly, a sucker to make you wakker“. The languages going wild in Pink Market. And Spanish all around in Mexico. Not a word I understand. But it still sounds like music.

The taste of my first cheese fondue in Lausanne in Switzerland. Followed by horse steak as a main course. And chilli on everything in Mexico. And tequila to take your breath away. And having some more. My first good coffee ever in a little coffee shop in Brussels. And later having a Turkish coffee a few blocks away. And still trying to go to sleep more than ten years later.

The smell of the perfumery in Luxembourg. And dog poo in Paris. Fresh fish bought from the fisherman in Strand. Real butter on the farm in the Karoo. Manure on the farm… Afval and putu on a wonky table in Khayelitsha. Fresh baked roosterkoek on the fire at Ouma’s place.

They are all good. But my pictures don’t fade. They just get more colourful by the day. The shades of poverty around the corner disappears. The darkness of sick and hungry children fades way in the background. Every spot of bad memories grows fainter by the day. Only the colours of happiness and beauty remains. And become brighter by the day. That’s how I want my pictures to be. The good things of life and living etched in my mind. Smiling faces. Happy times.

I hope you have some pictures too.

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Italy – Che macello! (What a mess!)

Shortest Italian book ever written? Great Italian War Heroes. No wait, I have another one. Great post-war Italian political leaders. Longest Italian book ever written? Post-war Italian governments. Man, they have had a few.

Yes. Italy was at it again. Another year. Another election. And another new government. Guess how many governments Italy has had since the end of World War II? Hold on before you answer that one. Remember, it has been 63 years since the end of the war. You would think maybe 20 odd right? One every four years and maybe one or two that didn’t last the whole 4 years – or whatever the term in office might be. Try again. 30? Nope, try again. 40 maybe? No sirree. Come on, be bold. 50? Nah, but getting slightly warmer. 60! Almost there. It’s 62 in fact. Yes, 62 governments in 63 years… America has only had 43 Presidents since 1789… Bah! Call that a democracy? Only 43 in 219 years. Amateurs.

Guess who won? Berlusconi won again… How does he do it? I mean this guy make Bush sound like Shakespeare. He once told a German member of the European Parliament, ““Mr Schulz, I know a movie producer in Italy who is making a movie about Nazi concentration camps. I will suggest you to play the role of a Kapo. You are perfect!”. And he also said that he had to “dust off my playboy skills” when he met with the (female) Finnish president, Tarja Halonen. And here is a favourite one… At an awards dinner in January 2007, Berlusconi was quoted as saying, “If I wasn’t already married, I would marry you right away,” and “With you, I’d go anywhere” to Mara Carfagna, a representative of Forza Italia and former showgirl. These flirtatious comments prompted his wife Veronica to demand an apology in a front-page letter to the Italian newspaper La Repubblica, one of Berlusconi’s rival publications. In a statement released through his political party, he begged for forgiveness and stated that he would “always protect [Veronica’s] dignity.” And he has been rumoured to be linked to the mafia and a (previously) secret masonic lodge. How does he do it? Well, I guess it helps a bit that he owns about half of the media in Italy.

But really. 62 governments in 63 years? Can you even say that they had a government at all? Imagine you are the new Prime Minister. You just won the election. Start getting all your sh*t together and get ready for the move into your grand new palace, Palazzo Chigi. Picked out the new Italian designed furniture and drapes. Bought the Fiat and Ferrari to fit into the garage. Got the new pizza pans and pizza pots. Had the last party in your home town in Sicily – to show respect to the Don. Said goodbye to mamma because you are at last leaving the house. And just as you arrive to move into your new government residence and take up office they tell you that a new government has just been elected and you are outta there. Damn. You blink and you are out.

I think I know why they keep on changing governments in Italy. You see, Italians are very community orientated. The family is very important. And the uncles and aunts and sisters and brothers and nieces and nephews – all of them. They are close. Share meals together. Go to the market together. Fight and lose together. Make a noise together. Throw their arms up in disgust and annoyance together. They do everything together. So they love all equally and truly believe in the principle of a government by the people, for the people and of the people. But the push it just a tad too far. They also want everyone they know to have a chance to be in government. Today Papa Prodi, tomorrow Uncle Giuseppe. And don’t forget little Rosalina wants a chance too.

And don’t forget, Italy is run by men. Women hardly ever try to enter politics in Italy. The last well known Italian female politician was porn-star Cicciolina. And there is a very good reason for this. Women have brains. They know that trying to be an effective politician in Italy is like trying to win a major modern war. It just doesn’t happen in Italy. And someone must run the actual Italy. Seeing that the men are always busy with the move in and out of parliament – women might just as well do the real work to keep the country up and running.

You know why the men move in and out of Palazzo Chigi apart from losing the vote before they even won it? Because Italian men can never stay away from their mothers. They live with their mothers until they get married at age 40. And then hope that their wife will treat them like their mother did. They don’t, because they have their own sons to look after and spoil so the men go into politics to get away from their wives who don’t adore them day in and day out – rather just a clip behind the ear. Then they “fix” the results so they can lose quickly and move back in with their mothers. Sigh… Italian men and their mothers…

These Italian politicians won’t be able to organise a piss-up in a brewery. They just don’t organize anything. Blame their mothers who organized their lives including their drawers and selection of hair-gel. These men manage to run nothing and do nothing in politics – and then ride of those credentials for years. Thank god they don’t run the economy. But it leaves me with another problem. How can they call the mafia organized crime? How do they organize crime? I mean really, these guys can’t organize jack. How the hell do they organize crime?

But here is the thing. I actually think that the Italians are way ahead of us. They know what happens when a government gets too comfortable. Or when government actually tries to run a country. It is all downhill from there. They believe in a “light touch” government the conservatives in America and UK can only talk about (but never actually do or want). And how do you ensure that you never get a government who actually govern? Just don’t give them a chance to settle in. Change them as often as you do your underwear. Or as quickly as what you surrender. “Hey, Prodi is talking about politics and people in one sentence – I think it is time to elect a new government before they get some weird idea of actually doing something as a government”. And, in any case, we are into the fourth month of 2008 and need to change the sheets. Might just as well change the government as well. It’s called Spring Cleaning in my house. We did it last weekend – and so did Italy.

And we can learn a few things from them. Let’s look at Zimbabwe compared to Italy. Zimbabwe has had three governments since World War II – the Queen of England, Ian Smith and Robert Mugabe. Three in 63 years. And see where that got them! Stability in government = instability of country. Italy? 62 governments in 63 years. Instability of government = stability of country. I say let’s hire a few Italian political consultants to advise a few leaders in Africa on how to run their countries. Bye-bye Bob…

This might be tongue in cheek, but I love Italy for being Italy. They give me an easy target to shoot at. But they win in the end. I would rather be them than against them (except in war). What’s the alternative? Switzerland? Let’s see… mm… With all the turmoil, lost battles, animated talking, general chaos and joke politics Italy has given us what? Well, they have given us Thomas Aquinas, Machiavelli, Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, Donatello, Raphael, Picasso, Vivaldi, Verdi, Versace, Armani, Pavarotti, Domingo, Carreras, Bocelli, Ferrari’s and pizza and pasta, to name but a few. And Switzerland? Land of continuous peace and stability? Where nothing ever happens and it carries on for months? Well, all that peace and stability gave us Swiss cheese and the bloody cuckoo clock.

Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll stick with the Italians. I think they are on to something. It could be the next election for all I know.

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It’s democracy, but not as you know it

Democracy. Ah, good old democracy. It’s been the hot new ideological toy that almost every country wants for their birthday for the last few years, if not centuries. But what is it? What makes a democracy a democracy? I always thought I knew what it meant. But then I was reminded that democracy is in the eye of the beholder. You see, Gen Moeen U Ahmed said that Bangladesh needs its own brand of democracy. So what type do they want? And when is a democracy a democracy? I don’t know – it’s all a bit confusing.

My problem really started in South Africa where I was born. The government of the day (or regime of the day would be closer to the truth) told us we lived in a democracy. Can’t you see? People are allowed to vote for who they want in their government. But that was the snag – “their government”. People had to be classified according to their race and only those of similar race could vote for “their government”. Democracy was too good to share with everyone. But we got to know that this type of democracy wasn’t really all they claimed it to be. It wasn’t what it said on the box. And we threw our toys and got ourselves a new one. We called our new version the one-person-one-vote democracy. Where every persons vote counted as one no matter what the color of your skin, sexual preferences, type of dog you liked etc – and the person and party who got the most votes won! It was revolutionary. I mean really. It was the toy that fitted all our needs and we all wanted to play – a bit like the Wii compared to a game of cards (or a house of cards I guess).

I got a pretty good handle at democracy back then. I liked it. And then the US had their election in 2000. And the guy with the least votes won. What the hell? What version is that? Version 1.1? It felt a bit like someone trying to sell me GI Joe that was so 80’s. Just a shame the guy who ‘won’ was not a real GI. Just a doll dressed up. But they talk tough – just pull the corporate string at the back and listen to him sing. Anyway, I digress. Democracy was obviously not about who won the popular vote. It was about the “will of the people”. And some people just counted for a little bit more than others.

Oh yes, that was another snag in the democracy package you should read. Some votes count for more. Why? Because those living in “go-knows-where-or-why-ville” feels that it would be wrong if those city slickers meant as much to the country as them. Nope. Those out in the sticks wanted a little more for themselves. No plain old Barbie for them. No, they wanted Fairytopia Barbie. With wings and all. So some votes still count more than others. But I knew that at least I had one thing that made sense – people who vote in a democracy are citizens from that country voting for who they want. Right?

And then I went to the UK for a few years. But I remained Proudly South African. And election time came and they started asking me who I was going to vote for! What the…? Yes, I could vote in the UK even though I was not a UK citizen – only a legal resident. They argued that I pay taxes and should therefore have a right to vote. I wasn’t going to argue and went to vote. But I that was odd though. Because I was a South African voting in the UK, but I couldn’t vote in the South African election. Because you have to be in the country to vote in South Africa (makes sense with our limited budget you see). Now I got it though. A democracy is where X marks the spot*. (This spot can mean different things though depending on where you live. Please read the small print). Democracy with strings attached, but at least I knew you put a X next to the person you like to vote for

And then the bloody Swiss allowed me to visit them without a visa. I couldn’t vote – I was really only on a short trip there. But what did I find? People voting by putting up their hand! Yes, just standing around on the village square and voting by hand. And I thought the Swiss were so far ahead of us with their clocks and cheeses. So no X needed.

Moved to the USA and they gave me another more detailed version. First you have primaries – not linked to primates, but they act almost like a bunch of primates with the throwing of poo and constant scratching. Okay, I lie about the scratching. I don’t get it. Primaries and caucuses. But I guess it works out somehow. Still odd though. You can win the popular vote and then still lose the primate race. Don’t get it, but I have sensory overload when trying to get my head around it. It’s a bit like a box of monkeys – too many of them, but you know they all link somehow. Oh, and I couldn’t vote in the US even though I live there and pay taxes. Not complaining. But it makes keeping track of who I support a bit more difficult.

Every place have their own system. In Nigeria you need to win most of the states and not only the popular vote – just too make sure a person from one group or religion does not make promises to one group only. In Cuba they have the Ford version of democracy – you can vote for anyone you like as long as it is for the only guy nominated by Fidel. And in Zimbabwe you can vote for anyone as long as his name is Bob and his surname is Mugabe.

So, General Moeen, be careful when you pick your democracy. Read the back of the pack carefully to make sure which version you have. Your operating system might not support this game – and you will need an upgrade to Democracy 2.0. Democracy is like a Transformer toy. It can be anything you want it to be. It’s still much better than not having a toy at all.