I first became aware of Jacob Zuma in 2007, a few years before he was elected president of South Africa. I had returned to my native country to do research on a novel, in hopes of gaining insight into the attitudes of the people since the fall of apartheid.
I traveled to remote parts of South Africa, seeking to understand the feelings of the ethnic groups that make up huge swaths of the country. In the rural town of Nkandla, in KwaZulu-Natal, an ancient colonial British prison was the only indication that any but the Zulu people had ever inhabited the place.
We stopped on a hillside next to a complex construction site to stretch our legs. Curious about what was being built, we walked up the hill. At the summit, a massive, half-completed water tower came into view — distinctly out of place among the rolling hills and waving grasses of rural KwaZulu. Several construction workers, all women, were clearing debris from the site. The foreman stood watching them, and they all glanced at us with curiosity.
The view from the hilltop stretched to the horizon, with small homesteads dotting the landscape. The closest home was more elaborate, consisting of several substantial buildings, surrounded by round, traditional huts, an enclosure for animals, and a sturdy fence that was unusual for this part of the world.
An elderly gray beard wearing a battered Fedora stopped alongside us to rest. He lit a corncob pipe and stood, leaning on his staff, gazing down at the homestead below. My guide greeted him in Zulu, and the ensuing conversation, translated for my benefit, went something like this:
“What are you doing up on this hilltop? You work for the construction company?”
“No,” said my guide. “I’m just showing this man how well the water tower is coming.”
The man laughed and relit his pipe. “Of course, it’s coming well. You know who brought it here?”
“Who?”
“That’s Jacob Zuma’s house,” he replied and pointed to the large homestead below us. “This is the water he brings here for his family and his animals and to irrigate his maize.”
He turned and pointed behind him. “I live over there, about two hours walk,” he said. “I will not see one drop of this water. But, Zuma,” he added with some pride, “he knows how to take care of his people. He will be our next president.”
Eleven years ago drought was already an ongoing problem, and competition for water was fierce — despite the fact that the right to clean water was enshrined in the South African constitution, written at the time of Nelson Mandela’s ascension to power. However, the right to clean water is not synonymous with the availability of clean water. One might say that, like the right to education and medical care, also enshrined in the South African constitution, clean water for all is an “aspirational goal.”
Time passed, and sure enough, the old man’s words came true: Zuma became the nation’s president. Unfortunately, his skepticism that Zuma would take care of all South Africans was well-founded.
Several years after becoming president, as part of a “security upgrade” to his property, Zuma built an amphitheater and a swimming pool. When questioned about the expenditure, his representatives described the pool first as a reservoir for fire-fighting water and only second as a recreational site.
Zuma can now retire to his homestead and sit by his fire-fighting reservoir while watching the KwaZulu sun set over his water tank. Meanwhile, the closest many South Africans will come to achieving their right to clean water is standing in water lines waiting to fill their buckets.
One hopes that Cyril Ramaphosa, who will likely succeed Mr. Zuma, can do better.
Photo: Getty Images