Tuesday: Shower. Breakfast. Traffic. Work. Tea Break. Such is the life of a lab rat.
But with Tuesday tea break comes Ben Trovato’s column in the Cape Times. Today, I open the paper even more eagerly. How will someone with such obvious compassion for those around him and an incomparable understanding of South African cultures handle the recent xenophobic problems?
Surprisingly subtly, actually. But whatever, because then, halfway through the column – the bombshell:
And so, to matters more serious. It is with a heavy heart I inform you of circumstances necessitating that I relinquish this valuable piece of literary real estate with immediate effect.
I read it once. I read it again. And I was left numb. Seriously, Ben Trovato has kept me going through some difficult times since I moved over here. I have all his books and I agree with every sentiment therein – maybe even the bit when he called my car “gay”. I have lived vicariously through his words, possessing neither the bravery (foolishness?) to do the stuff he did nor the literary ability to describe the things I dared not do. And now he’s hanging up his pen.
At times like this, you can either mope, depressed in the knowledge that Tuesdays will never be the same again. Or you can celebrate the chance for a new columnist to fill his boots (something Ben Trovato has been doing for 5 years+).
Well sod your happy-clappy positivity. I’m in mourning.
RIP Ben Trovato. (Unless this is all a big hoax in which case I’m coming after you with a big stick.)
I know that you read me like I read you, so thanks. And all the best.
I hope I’m still going to be able to read you somewhere… sometime.
Otherwise, how will I know what to think?
In memory, I present to you his finest hour:
Why, in the name of God, won’t someone bring Jacob Zuma his machine gun? I can no longer stand by and watch the man suffer like this. Has he not been through enough?
There is an organisation called the Friends of Jacob Zuma, and yet not one of its members is willing to do as he asks. Some friends.
Jacob Zuma has anywhere between two and five wives. But what good is that if none will go the extra mile? Who brings him his pint of Ijuba after another exhausting live concert outside the Pietermartizburg High Court? As a proud Zulu man, he cannot be expected to fetch his own sorghum beer and automatic weapon.
Jacob Zuma is clearly someone who treasures his machine gun above all else. So what of it? He doesn’t ask for much. All he wants is his machine gun.
And maybe the presidency.
I don’t want to sound churlish, but it might help if he told us where he left the damn thing. It must be somewhere. He definitely started out with one, otherwise he would be singing, “bring me a machine gun”. By referring to his machine gun in the possessive, he is telling us that he already has one, but that he has either mislaid it or somebody has moved it from where he last saw it.
Perhaps his machine gun is at his mother-in-law’s house.
Maybe he can’t remember which mother-in-law.
EDIT: Incoming email from Ben Trovato himself suggests that I should look out for the Sunday Times on 8th June. Could it be that he is taking the place of thankfully-sacked columnist Bavid Dullard?
If so, sign me up, Mr Makhanya!!