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Daily Maverick
17-07-2025
- Politics
- Daily Maverick
Letter to Mahlamba Ndlopfu: My jacaranda tree is a living metaphor for a country in flux
Ah, Chief Dwasaho! A giant jacaranda tree stands forlornly outside my window, stripped bare of the riotous purple blossoms that once danced like confetti across Pretoria's avenues in summer. It looks lonely and confused, as though it no longer understands its place in the world or the delicate art of statecraft. You might recall, my leader, how the erstwhile Chief Tenant of Mahlamba Ndlopfu, Thabo Mbeki, once waxed lyrical about the jacaranda trees to illustrate the splendour of our land. In a flourish typical of his philosophical bent, he ventured into uncharted territory, posing the rhetorical question: 'At times, and in fear, I have wondered whether I should concede equal citizenship of our country to the leopard and the lion, the elephant and the springbok, the hyena, the black mamba and the pestilential mosquito.' As I ponder the future of my homeland, my jacaranda tree stands as a living metaphor for a country in flux — confused, stripped of its splendour, yet stubbornly rooted in the hope that spring might one day return. Comrade Leadership, I'm going all philosophical on you because simple language and polite presuppositions can no longer suffice to explain the goings-on in the Republic of the Guptas — a land seemingly complete with its own Ministry of Crime tucked inside the Justice, Crime Prevention and Security (JCPS) Cluster. Now, to keep things precise, the word 'cluster,' according to the Oxford English Dictionary, means: Cluster (noun): A group of similar things growing or held together; a bunch. A bunch of ministers, a cluster of chaos Comrade Leadership, I'm rather fond of that last bit — a bunch. Stay with me for a second. Today, the Ministry of Police boasts a proper bunch of FIVE warm bodies. Yes, you read that right. It's a bona fide bunch of a ministry, the only one globally. First, you instructed our alleged underworld figure, Senzo Mchunu, to retreat to Zululand and tend to his chickens — on full pay — with the Blue Light Bullies (VIP police) trailing behind him. Then, in a plot twist worthy of a daytime soapie, you appointed Gwede Mantashe, Minister of Mineral and Petroleum Resources, as Acting Minister of Police, effective immediately. He's merely holding the fort until Professor Firoz Cachalia assumes office in early August 2025, again in an acting capacity. Meanwhile, Mchunu will continue to shuffle between the Police Commission of Inquiry, chaired by Acting Deputy Chief Justice Mbuyiseli Madlanga, and his taxpayer-funded hotel suite or state house, as he fancies. So here we stand, with a ministry housing three ministers — real, acting, and acting-in-waiting — plus two deputy ministers, namely Shela Boshielo and Cassel Mathale, both ANC acolytes. The latter serve diligently, albeit in near-total silence, thus redefining the very concept of a bunch within a cluster. If we add their bag carriers, security detail, administrators, speechwriters, spokespersons, heads of office or chiefs of staff, we've graduated from a 'bunch' to a fully fledged ANC branch. It comes complete with the quorum for singing 'My President, My President' at a regional conference at the Birchwood Hotel & Conference Centre in Ekurhuleni, Benoni. I digress. Coup plots and the people's bae My leader, within this convoluted environment, Minister in the Presidency Khumbudzo Ntshavheni, caretaker of state security, enters, wide-eyed but speaking in hushed tones. Ntshavheni — the people's bae, renowned for her fiery promise to 'smoke them out' when it comes to illegal miners and private sector players allegedly plotting to collapse the ANC-led government, is suddenly muted. This week, she dropped the political equivalent of a thunderclap, revealing 'plots of a coup d'état, or unconstitutional changes of government, orchestrated or encouraged by elements both domestic and external'. Yet, tragically, she followed this bombshell with a curious disclaimer: 'We are not alarmist, but vigilant. It is our duty to detect and neutralise threats before they destabilise the Republic. South Africa is not immune to the global trend of hybrid threats, where disinformation, cyberattacks and foreign interests combine with local actors to try to delegitimise the state or effect regime change.' My leader, I am utterly devastated by the minister's newfound reluctance to lead from the front and 'identify coup d'état plotters and smoke them out'. Why this sudden bout of shyness? Why are we, of all nations battered by history, suddenly so timid, so determined not to be alarmist, especially when the very foundations of the Republic might be under siege from forces skulking both inside and outside our borders? Where, I ask you, is this much-vaunted bunch of a Ministry of Police when we need them the most? In truth, the entire Justice, Crime Prevention and Security Cluster should be on high alert, lest we witness a repeat of the proverbial July 2021 civil unrest. Those 12 so-called instigators, if you remember, were apparently identified by former police minister Bheki Cele in his sleep. Yet they somehow managed to outsmart, outfox, outwit and downright embarrass the entire security apparatus of the Republic. Barbarians at the gate And I'm left wondering, my leader: If the people's bae herself is now whispering instead of roaring, who exactly will stand guard when the jackals — or shall we call them the Barbarians — come sniffing at the gates of our democracy, specifically at Mahlamba Ndlopfu? In times like these, we, as a nation (Lieutenant-General Nhlanhla Mkhwanazi included) must be vigilant, aware and ready to take action to protect our homeland from imigodoyi and underworld figures. I say so, my leader, because our Special Forces, police and army appear distracted these days. A whole 'bunch' of them are now deployed to protect our freshly minted National Key Point, none other than Lieutenant-General Nhlanhla Mkhwanazi, who, as you know, has been dropping political bombs — or was it missiles — that could blow the roof off the entire Justice, Crime Prevention and Security Cluster. Meanwhile, the army types are playing a very different kind of war game, marching in and out of courtrooms, their boots squeaking on polished tiles instead of battlefield dust. On 11 July 2025, 12 SANDF Special Forces operators appeared in the Randburg Magistrate's Court facing a cocktail of charges including murder, kidnapping, fraud, obstruction of justice, perjury and vehicle theft. Their alleged involvement in the murder of Hawks investigator Frans Mathipa, tied to a kidnapping case involving a suspected Isis associate, reads like a Hollywood script. Except this is no blockbuster film. It's real life, with consequences for the integrity of our security cluster and the safety of 'our people'. Mafia state? My leader, all of this leaves me grappling with a chilling question: are we teetering on the brink of a failed state, or have we become a fully fledged mafia state? Because it's becoming increasingly complex to tell the difference. One minute, we're standing tall, singing Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika, our fists raised high, eyes glistening with patriotic fervour, tears rolling down our cheeks as we swear that ours is a land of peace, justice and freedom. The next minute, we're hunched over our smartphones, squinting through bloodshot eyes at news alerts that speak of ministers under investigation, Special Forces members frog-marched into courtrooms, and whispers of coups slithering like vipers through the corridors of power. New citizens Perhaps, like the philosopher king Mbeki, we should indeed consider extending citizenship not to humans, who seem so hellbent on betrayal and plunder, but rather to the lions, leopards and elephants — creatures that, at the very least, understand the sacredness of territorial integrity and the solemn duty of sovereignty. At least the lion, when he roars, roars for real, and not in carefully worded press statements drafted by spin doctors who've mastered the art of saying absolutely nothing in a thousand words. With lions, there would be no cosy clandestine meetings in smoke-filled rooms to plot tenders and sell out national secrets. At least the leopard, when he stalks his prey, does so with lethal purpose, not dithering behind endless commissions of inquiry or ducking questions from parliamentary committees. At least the elephant, in its grandeur, never forgets, a quality that would serve this Republic well, given how conveniently our leaders' memories seem to fail them whenever brown envelopes start changing hands. Brown Mogotsi, anyone? My leader, sometimes I wonder if the wild animals would better guard the gates of Mahlamba Ndlopfu than some of those currently holding high office.
Daily Maverick
15-07-2025
- Politics
- Daily Maverick
Letter to Mahlamba Ndlopfu: This is ‘a matter of grave national security concern'
Ah, Chief Dwasaho! I am utterly gobsmacked. The torrent of breaking news keeps splattering our politicians in shades of scandal, casting them as nothing more than imigodoyi — 'useless dogs' — to borrow the loaded phrase our elder statesman, former president Thabo Mbeki, unleashed at the height of the State Capture saga and the grand theatre of Zumanomics. Rich Mashimbye, a postdoctoral research fellow at the Institute for Pan-African Thought and Conversation at the University of Johannesburg, decoded Mbeki's biting words in 2023. In essence, Dr Mashimbye argues that imigodoyi denotes ANC cadres as 'people who are essentially criminals and always act in ways intended to advance an agenda rather than for the greater good of society'. Let's rewind the tape to Super Sunday. Enter stage left: KwaZulu-Natal's South African Police Service (SAPS) provincial commissioner, Lieutenant-General Nhlanhla Lucky Mkhwanazi, the man with a gift for deadpan one-liners like 'unfortunately, there's an engagement inside, and a suspect was fatally wounded'. This time, the general wasn't just dropping routine pressers; he was lobbing long-range missiles straight at the political establishment, shaking pillars and ruffling feathers in places where the blue lights shine brightest, yet brown envelopes are hidden in plain sight. As the man of the moment, Mkhwanazi knew that optics are key — and boy, did he command the stage to send a straightforward message to those still clinging to the illusion of being untouchable: your time is up. But Comrade Leadership, let's not kid ourselves; he wasn't just about the optics. Sure, the sight of those men (Special Task Force) kitted out in military fatigues (and not the cheap PEP ones) with balaclavas pulled tight and R5 rifles strapped across their chests would have sent shivers down the spine of even the most tender-loving politician. Clueless analyst Of course, it jolted even a clueless analyst or an apolitical onlooker like me into action as social media platforms went abuzz. I missed the live presser but had to remedy that situation quickly with a double-shot black Americano, two boiled eggs, and two slices of brown toast while glued to the recording on YouTube. The content screamed, in no uncertain terms, 'a matter of grave national security concern'. And let's talk about Mkhwanazi himself. The man's got the gift of the gab, his delivery slow, measured, but slicing through the nonsense like a panga through sugarcane. Honestly, who else rocks up to a press conference armed with an entire PowerPoint presentation? This guy did. Mkhwanazi laid down the law of evidence: 'Electronic communication of this arrested person, Vusimusi 'Cat' Matlala.' And he didn't stop there. 'This analysis reveals communication between the arrested Vusimusi Cat Matlala, Mr Brown Mogotsi, an associate of the minister of police, and the Minister of Police, Senzo Mchunu.' Then he delivered the final blow: 'My findings show certain politicians, law enforcement, SAPS, metro police, correctional services, prosecutors and the judiciary are controlled by drug cartels and businesspeople.' For the politically uninitiated, 'Cat' Matlala is the tender don of the Tembisa Hospital, where billions were looted, and the whistleblower Babita Deokaran was assassinated. Triggermen entered into a plea and sentencing agreement with the National Prosecuting Authority, a sure sign of the code of silence associated with the Underworld. Until recently, 'Cat' Matlala had infected the SAPS by offering health services — the audacity. According to a News24 Special Report, 'after securing a R360-million SAPS health services tender, despite zero qualifications, amid allegations of fraud, fronting and collusion, Matlala's tentacles extended to Police Minister Senzo Mchunu and former minister Bheki Cele'. Let me spell it out, Comrade Leadership: Babita Deokaran wasn't some anonymous paper-pusher. She was the Acting Chief Financial Officer in the Gauteng Department of Health, and the woman brave enough to pull the curtain back on nearly R1-billion in dodgy contracts funnelled through Tembisa Hospital — payments for everything from overpriced gloves to suspicious medical supplies. A hail of bullets And what was her reward? A hail of bullets outside her home in Winchester Hills, her blood seeping into the asphalt of our so-called democracy. The six hitmen who confessed are behind bars, but the big fish, the architects of this mafia-style hit, remain untouched, raising one screaming question: Who is protecting the real masterminds? I guess we all know who the masterminds are by now. The dominoes are falling, one by one, like rotten fruit off an overripe tree. But I digress. Not content with bullet points, Mkhwanazi rolled out a forensic timeline of events, peppered with WhatsApp receipts for extra spice. And here's the kicker: he didn't need to beg anyone to connect the dots. The dots lined themselves up and practically drew the picture for us. The performance of the political establishment since the missiles of Mkhwanazi's exposé flew from Durban to Brazil. Its shrapnel scattering all the way to Rio outside the BRICS+ conference has been nothing short of comical. Ministers, big shots, and the usual spin doctors have been tying themselves in knots trying to outrun the truth like an unmarked black SUV stuffed with menacing-looking Blue Light Bullies. Meanwhile, a flurry of gibberish words masquerading as media statements keeps flying thick and fast, even though you, my leader, called for 'restraint'. Yet restraint seems as scarce as an honest tenderpreneur these days. 'I don't know him — actually, I do — but he isn't my associate, just a comrade,' one Underworld operative mumbled to a gaggle of journalists, their eyes bloodshot and notepads sagging under the weight of scandal. Really now, what on Earth, for Peter's sake, is the difference, comrade — associate — friend, or partner in crime? Because to those of us out here, it's all starting to look like the same rotten stew. Another, cool as ice, admitted to crashing in the Cat's penthouse, yet swore mindlessly there was no 'business relationship'. So, tell us: What exactly is the relationship, then, between the accused and the former politician — platonic, sexual or something even more sinister? 'It wasn't me' All we've heard from the police top brass is: 'It wasn't me, wasn't me, of course it wasn't me.' It sounds like a national chorus of off-key Shaggy impersonators; they keep denying, deflecting, and ducking while the truth skulks in the shadows, smoking a Cuban cigar. I've said it a million times: your word, my leader, must mean something. Otherwise, 'we are on our own'. And believe me, Comrade Leadership, if the past few days have taught us anything, it is that it doesn't. The latest episode is a sequel to the spectacular fall from grace suffered by the late, corrupt police chief Jackie Selebi who belted out the immortal words that sealed his fate: 'He is my friend, finish and klaar.' He was talking about a civilian, mind you — a man already unmasked as none other than a drug lord. That's the calibre of explanations we're being served today: half-lies, twisted truths, and frantic denials all wrapped in the comedic circus of the politically damned. Meanwhile, the actors scramble for plausible deniability, leaving the rest of us to piece together the obvious: the rot runs deep, and the Cat's claws have scratched far more than just the surface. The pageantry of imigodoyi who infiltrated the ANC back in the days of exile and the underground and somehow slithered to the top post apartheid, is now playing out in full view for all of us to see. All along, we've been passengers, led like lambs to the slaughterhouse, believing we were on a luxury bus to freedom. But what freedom, really? Last week, I posed what I thought was an ominous question: 'How does one simply go to bed and wake up no longer part of the ANC, in any shape or form?' That was an awkward and misinformed question. The real question is: How do people, in good conscience, keep voting for Christmas (ANC) the way turkeys have been doing for over a century? Mkhwanazi has raised his hand; as far as I'm concerned, he is now the country's most critical national key point. Please do the right thing, my leader: instead of your judicial commission of inquiry, give us a panel of retired sleuths and senior counsels to investigate and prosecute, pronto. Meanwhile, Lieutenant-General Shadrack Sibiya and the minister of police should be suspended with full pay and retain their security detail.
Daily Maverick
04-07-2025
- Health
- Daily Maverick
Letter to Mahlamba Ndlopfu: How do Comrades, guilty as sin, walk away scot-free?
Ah, Chief Dwasaho! My old, battered companion, brain fog, is back, swirling around my head like a man suffering from hypoglycaemia (low blood sugar). I blame it on Cardio-Kidney-Metabolic (CKM), a toxic ménage à trois of diseases waiting to dispatch us to our early graves. And who's the main culprit behind this sinister syndicate? None other than our number one killer: type 2 diabetes (T2D). So, say the clever black folks and the colonial types who gathered under the bright lights of the Novo Nordisk CKM Africa Summit 2025, which wrapped up in Cape Town this past weekend. Comas, hearts and Coke Yes, Comrade Leadership, writing about that lot is enough to drive even a well-lubricated mind into a hyperglycemic coma. Once upon a time, these things would send me straight to the local beer hole, where a cold quart could cure many ills, except my T2D. The scientists at that gig insisted 'genetics and biology dictate weight gain', not how much we eat. We can't diet ourselves out of obesity or run marathons to reverse the biology of weight gain; the minute you stop, your old friend will be back in a jiffy. I'm afraid, my leader. Very afraid. I was right in the thick of fiery debates about the lethal tango between T2D and cardiovascular disease, or CVD. That's when your heart and blood vessels start crying like kidneys trying to filter a litre of Coke. Let's not forget their other shady cousins: chronic kidney disease and obesity. Together, they're a sugar-laden conspiracy plotting a silent coup in our bodies. It holds dual memberships like Floyd Shivambu and the MK-Mayibuye combo. The verdict on the 'Gupta Four' Then, the news broke that the ANC's National Disciplinary Committee — the NDC — (what discipline?) had finally delivered its verdict in the matter of the ANC vs State Capture Quartet. Quartet, as in four, my leader: Malusi Gigaba, Zizi Kodwa, David Mahlobo and Cedric Frolick. Once upon a time, the infamous 'Gupta Four' ran this country like a family spaza shop, allegedly. Although, to be fair, decent folks run spaza shops without the help of expanding waistlines, a sure sign, if ever there was one, of a cooked tender or two. And the verdict? Not guilty. I repeat for the Comrades whose sugar levels might be dipping: not guilty. For the ones at the back munching vetkoek: not guilty. Justice or just a sugar rush? My sugar levels spiked as if I'd devoured a box of koeksisters, washed them down with Fanta Grape, and followed it with a stack of pancakes. It felt like the apocalypse. How do Comrades, guilty as sin, walk away scot-free? It's like a diabetic insisting, 'I'm fine,' while clutching a pharmacy's worth of chronic meds, insulin included. No, my brother, you're sick. And the condition will never be reversed, just like the acquittal of these Comrades accused of dragging the glorious movement through the mud. The charges state that the 'Gupta Four' brought the party into 'disrepute' through 'unethical or immoral conduct'. Can you believe it? Unethical and immoral? Disrepute? Zondo, directories and weighty matters Interestingly, the charges don't even stem directly from the critical volumes of the Zondo Commission of Inquiry into State Capture (Commission of Inquiry into Allegations of State Capture, Corruption and Fraud in the Public Sector, including Organs of State: Report [2022], vol 3, Part 4), but rather from failure to appear before the ANC's 'Integrity Commission'. Integrity? Judge Zondo's reports that are thicker than the now-defunct Telkom phone directory and heavier than a diabetic's sugar guilt after a festive-season pleasure-eating binge have no force or effect on the ANC's reputation. Perhaps that explains why others 'implicated' in the R1-billion State Capture Commission weren't summoned before the NDC. Uncle Gwezzy 'Tiger' Mantashe, anyone? I mention him deliberately because he'll take it on the chin, laugh, and move on. Yet, despite this mountain of evidence, the ANC's own disciplinary body declared the so-called State Capture Kingpins as innocent as altar boys. Gigaba was once an altar boy, wasn't he? The secret to ANC acquittals Guess why? Because criminal misdemeanours in the ANC are prescribed, like bad debts, my leader. These Comrades, says one of their own, should have been brought to heel within six months. Thus, they were all cleared faster than the click of the insulin pen. I hear you saying it was on technical grounds. Really now? I'm tired of stating the obvious: the same Comrades before the NDC made the rules about who must appear before it, when, and on what grounds. Get it? The rule of law, or the rule of loopholes? Make the rules, break them, and boom — create a loophole in advance. The 'Gupta Four' should be considered for the Nobel Prize in the Law of Evidence. What evidence? It's enough to send a man of advanced age like me with one foot in the grave sprinting (pun intended) for the nearest shebeen, mumbling over his cane spirit about whether justice, much like tenders, comes with a negotiable price tag. Of mothers and sons My leader, the acquittal of the Comrades reminds me of my mom (may her soul continue to rest in peace). She used to defend me with one line: Give me a list of witnesses, insisting icala lithethwa ngofakazi — a case stands or falls on witnesses. I wasn't a fly on the wall at the NDC hall or the Gupta compound, but I still shudder to think who the witnesses to the State Capture project might be and who among them would stick out like a cut-off diabetic thumb and do what? Snitch on the Comrades before the NDC? Don't the English, those forefathers of civilisation, say 'snitches get stitches'? My leader, a part of my brain cannot grasp the concept of the rule of law. Much like uBaba (Jacob Zuma) himself, I've come to believe our Constitution is little more than 'Roman-Dutch' law or, as Lindiwe Sisulu so colourfully puts it, 'full of liberal concoction'. Reputation: Fact or fiction? You've got to admire the boldness of the aristocrats of the National Democratic Revolution. Why would anyone accused of bringing the ANC into 'disrepute' ever lose their case? I always maintain (though I must confess I failed law, so please, this is not legal advice) that before anyone dares accuse me of tarnishing the ANC's good name, they ought first to step into the witness box and prove, beyond doubt and to the satisfaction of all and sundry, that the glorious movement still possesses a 'reputation' to speak of. My leader, someone whose name eludes me, once declared: 'Today, the ANC and its leaders stand accused of corruption. The ANC may not stand alone in the dock, but it does stand as Accused No 1.' I arrest (sic) my case. Of daughters and their fathers Last week, the pride and joy of the Mncube clan, my last-born daughter, was home, all the way from the Republic of the Western Cape, gracing us with her presence. For reasons unrelated to the 'Gupta Four,' I confessed to her that something was gnawing at me worse than a low-sugar episode. Quite out of the blue, I asked how people go to bed as ANC members and then wake up the next morning, 'no longer ANC members'. She looked at me with worry, glinting in her eyes. And she offered me a feeble smile, attempting to mask the gravity of what I'd just revealed. After a pause, she gently asked, 'Are you considering it?' I somewhat theatrically retorted, 'I said what I said: How does one simply go to bed and wake up no longer part of the ANC, in any shape or form? Is it even possible?' Her mother entered the room, prompting me to change the subject. I have no desire to be accused of selling off the family silver. My wife is all I have, literally. Perhaps I'm chasing a mirage. Or maybe I'm truly haunted by the echo of the ANC Struggle songs, especially the refrain that torments my conscience: Ubani oyofakaza ngawe uma ushiya uKhongolose … Who, indeed, would testify for me if I left the ANC at my funeral? Till next year, my man. Send me to Loothuli House for my hearing. DM
Daily Maverick
27-06-2025
- Health
- Daily Maverick
Letter to Mahlamba Ndlopfu: Diabetes is on the march, ushering in death like a thief in the night
Ah, Chief Dwasaho. I had hoped, perhaps naïvely, that a ceasefire to end the Israel-American war on Iran might lift my spirits, but it seems I remain a child of a lesser God. While the world held its breath following Iran's reciprocal attack on the American military base in Qatar, I found myself wrestling anew with my own silent killer, type 2 diabetes — one I had thought was buried for good beneath tablets and self-injections. Before the Israel-US-Iran skirmishes, I had already made a poor judgement call. I accepted Novo Nordisk's courtesy to attend the 85th American Diabetes Association (ADA) Congress, which concluded this past Monday in Chicago, US. I should have known better. The word 'diabetes' still sends a shiver down my spine. Twelve years of sweat, blood and tears have passed since I first heard that diagnosis. The years have blurred into struggle, yet hope persists, fragile as the fleeting peace we celebrate in far-off lands, uncertain how long it will last. I am lying, my leader; I was hoping that the science boffins at the ADA would announce a breakthrough for a cure that will improve my blood glucose without my having to lift a finger. I have tried better diets and newer drug regimens, and now I find myself among the ranks of those who rely on injectables. The nightmare worsens with each fasting glucose test. Let the facts speak. Our local figures show that non-communicable diseases, including diabetes, are now a leading cause of death and disability in the country, and their burden is growing at an unprecedented rate. According to the Department of Health's 2023/24 Annual Report, non-communicable diseases such as cardiovascular diseases, cancer, diabetes, chronic lower respiratory diseases, and mental health disorders have increased by 58.7% between 2002 and 2022. Sadly, diabetes has now overtaken tuberculosis (TB) as the leading cause of death among non-communicable diseases. At a 2024 World Diabetes Day event, Dr Zaheer Bayat from Helen Joseph Hospital raised the alarm. Bayat said South Africa's growing obesity epidemic was fuelling type 2 diabetes, now increasingly diagnosed in children and young adults. There were at least 5.6 million people with diabetes in South Africa in 2019, according to advisory firm Percept. That number was projected to rise to 5.7 million by 2025 and to 7.2 million by 2030. Stubborn digits The numbers, those stubborn digits that know neither spin doctor nor party whip, do not lie. We are bleeding silently, internally and nationally. The sugar monster, better known by its formal name, diabetes mellitus, is no longer content with its rank as a lifestyle disease. It has launched a full-blown missile attack on our health system and our households. It is now a national emergency, stalking us in rural clinics and urban e-hailing taxis alike. Once upon a time, we held nightly vigils for HIV and tuberculosis. Now, as the clocks of modernity tick on, diabetes tightens its grip, especially in our rural hamlets where the old enemies once reigned supreme. In these forgotten corners of the republic, a new horror dawns: poorly managed diabetes now trumps HIV and TB in its cruelty, ushering in death like a thief in a night clinic. I know this not from theory, my leader, but from the red soil of my own family. My beloved mother, MaMlambo, who had a warm embrace and an iron will, lost her fight against Covid-19. But it was diabetes that signed her death certificate. A year later, my middle brother followed. He lived in Ulundi, a place where health services are as scarce as ANC renewal. Fifty years young, armed only with faith and insulin, he too succumbed to the silent killer. His children were double orphaned, their mother long claimed by the pandemic of HIV/Aids and poverty — a lethal cocktail. I fear the very word, my leader, diabetes. I do not whisper it; I wince. For me, the battlefield is not some sterile clinic with motivational posters and lukewarm nurses. It is the blood test queue, the quarterly HbA1c verdict, and the trembling hand reaching for a glucometer. That number, calculated over 90 bitter days, is both my confessor and executioner. It tells me what the doctors won't: that I am losing ground. Once, I held the line. My glucose levels were stable. I marched to the beat of clean eating and regular medical check-ups. Then came Covid-19 twice. Each wave carved a little more of me away. The sugars spiked. Early this year, pneumonia arrived like an uninvited third cousin. The steroid treatment, my lifesaver, became the sugar saboteur. And so, I joined the ranks of the injectables. But let us not pretend the enemy arrived with the pandemic. No, diabetes had long danced in my bloodstream, chuckling as I downed beers in smoky taverns. What I called me-time was, in fact, a slow suicide. I drove while low on sugar, thinking I was only tipsy. I crashed into a gate in Sunnyside, barely avoiding the wrath of a mob thanks to a security guard who knew the signs. He had seen this sugar demon before, in his own brother's eyes. Years before that, I blacked out at the wheel and took out an electricity pole. Darkness descended on the neighbourhood, but it was the light of truth that hit me hardest: I had to stop drinking and driving. Four years clean now, 12 months without a car, but still I fight for control of this body. Medical A-team This is despite having a medical A-team, including a GP, endocrinologist, dietician, and private medical aid; I remain a man under siege. Diabetes is a cunning general. You never win. You negotiate, you stall, you beg. It requires 'unconditional surrender' to its management routine. My leader, this is not a lifestyle issue. This is war. Thus, we must do more than count corpses and preach wellness from podiums. We must fight for newer medicine that lasts the month, clinics that open on weekends, and nurses who do not yawn through their shifts. We need political will, not wellness seminars. Unfortunately, the war is here. It is in my blood. It is scorching our land. Let me tell you, my leader, there is hope, though. The science community is united in fighting diabetes and its twin evil, obesity. This week at the ADA Congress, Novo Nordisk, the Danish healthcare giant, released fresh results from the Step-Up trial in Chicago. The trial, led by Novo Nordisk and international researchers, tested a higher dose of semaglutide — the active ingredient in the weight loss drugs Wegovy and the type 2 diabetes injectable Ozempic — on people living with obesity but without diabetes. The results show that this 7.2 milligramme dose delivered an average weight loss of 21% over 72 weeks, with a third of participants shedding at least 25% of their body weight. The safety profile remained consistent with that of previous semaglutide trials, with most side-effects being mild to moderate gastrointestinal issues that resolved over time. The Danish firm now plans to file for a label update in the European Union and other markets where Wegovy is approved. I have asked: When is South Africa's turn? Soon. I am told. Why is the scientific community so fixated on obesity, you ask? The answer lies in the complex relationship between health and suffering that links obesity to diabetes. Scientists aren't merely chasing accolades or enriching their pockets through suffering; they are pursuing the root cause of the diabetes epidemic. The link between obesity and this deadly disease is the scientific gospel. The results released this week serve as a stark reminder that, in the battle against diabetes, the war must be fought first on the battlefield of obesity. Novo Nordisk is not just selling a drug; it is offering hope, a lifeline to those drowning in the flood of excess weight and its deadly consequence, uncontrolled diabetes, like me. Instead of hosting dialogues and unveiling the Eminent Persons Group, we should focus on reforming the healthcare system and working closely with scientists to fast-track the introduction of new, life-saving drugs into our public health system. If not for me, please do it for MaMlambo, a faith healer who gave of herself to save humanity and 5.6 million people facing death daily. Till next week, my man — send me to a clinical trial near me. DM
Daily Maverick
20-06-2025
- Politics
- Daily Maverick
Spare us from Big Men with big wallets, bigger lies and biggest egos
Ah, Chief Dwasaho. I was not going to write this letter today. I have exhausted my mental strength with human beings, the lies, deception, broken promises, rape, murder, genocide, missiles, bombs, drones, crime, corruption and obfuscation. There is not even a single statistic to confuse those with secondary education. While contemplating lying in bed and telling my editor I was unwell, I chanced upon the last letter from the founding Editor-in-Chief of this publication, Branko Brkic, who retired in 2024 after 15 years of service. Somehow, his resilience and sense of purpose made me rise from my slumber. I went to my family and told them I was despondent. With concern in her voice, my wife asked about what. I replied: 'Everything.' Thus, my leader, there is nothing intellectual about this week's letter, no links, no pleas for anything and no academic reflections, just despair and despondency. My readers should know that I aim to entertain as I inform. Not this week. The faces of despair I cannot unsee the images of Palestinian children's bodies I saw this week. Their faces already covered after meeting their fate at the hands of Israeli bombs, because Israel has a 'right to defend itself'. I saw aid seekers running frantically after the bombing rain, and yet when they spoke to journalists, there was no defiance in their faces. In their voices, there was no thirst for revenge, only despair. I witnessed a newsreader from the Iranian State broadcaster on Al Jazeera reading the news live while sirens wailed in advance of a missile attack; it all went black – no area is safe, not a media house, church, mosque, hospital, school, road or building. Just breathing alone is an invitation for untold suffering at the hands of Big Men with Bigger Lies, Biggest Egos and even the Thickest Wallets. At the receiving end are women and children, who have yet to start a single war in the history of Menkind – without humanity, but evil masked as the defence of sovereignty. Sadly, the children who watched the videos of Ukrainian women and children being bombed this week, like those of Gaza and Iran, are tomorrow's suicide bombers. The children who will survive the mayhem, which Al Jazeera calls by its first name, genocide, are tomorrow's members of Hamas, Isis, Boko Haram, al-Shabaab, al-Qaeda, Taliban, Hezbollah, the Lord's Resistance Army, among others. Arms or bread? But who arms these so-called extremist groups? Where do they acquire the mortars, the bombs, the deadly rifles, uniforms and the satellite phones? Who profits from the continuous flow of weapons into Israel, Gaza, Syria, the Sahel, the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) and beyond? How on Earth does a rebel group in Eastern DRC, such as M23, have the resources, the mortar bombs, to fight for decades on end while children starve and women perish? Who benefits from the minerals smuggled out, and who guarantees the weapons keep coming in? These are the questions that never get answered, as the cycle of violence creates only more despair. Men in occupied Gaza told Al Jazeera this week that 'all we want is flour to feed our children'. Flour to feed your children when you no longer have a house, a town, a friend or a neighbour, and you're stateless. I do not wish to overwhelm sensitive readers with the numbers of those killed in occupied Gaza and the West Bank since 1948. In Syria, Chechnya, Iran, Iraq, Ukraine, Egypt, Lebanon, Kosovo, Crimea and Donbas, as well as Kuwait, blood has flowed. The West's weaponry is always deployed, and bodies (what bodies? Body parts) were not even buried; they perished in the rubble. Tomorrow, it will be us. And no one will be left to defend us. The fate of rebels and the cost of proxy wars My leader, for how long are men, yes, men, going to feed their egos using taxpayers' money and substituting evidence with bogeymen like 'Iraq' with 'weapons of mass destruction'. The next minute, it's Iran with 'atomic bombs'. Not so long ago it was in Libya where the UN was used as a ruse for regime change. A man with an ego, according to my daughter, the size of Russia, who had been propped up for years by the West, outlived his usefulness. He was killed like a dog on live television. Proxy governments and puppet regimes fare no better. Their end is written in tears, betrayal and exile. Yet, while these games of power play out, women and children never know peace. Big Men with swollen bellies and even bigger egos crisscross the globe, claiming to end wars but only deepening the wounds. They demand 'unconditional surrender' from those under fire, or worse, urge besieged nations to cede territory to aggressors in exchange for foreign powers expropriating their minerals under the guise of protection. What word describes these Big Men? Extortionists? Bloody thieves. Heartless murderers, heavily disguised as human beings, their hands dripping with the blood of children and women from Congo, Burundi, Rwanda, there's always Gaza, and who knows who is next? Not to mention the giants of Africa's independence struggle: Patrice Lumumba (Congo) and Thomas Sankara (Burkina Faso), all assassinated, and Samora Machel of Mozambique, allegedly dying innocently in an air crash on our soil. How convenient? But the list of African leaders assassinated since independence is longer and more tragic. Félix-Roland Moumié (Cameroon), Sylvanus Olympio (Togo), Eduardo Mondlane (Mozambique), Amílcar Cabral (Guinea-Bissau), Marien Ngouabi (Congo-Brazzaville), Anwar Sadat (Egypt), Melchior Ndadaye (Burundi), Juvénal Habyarimana (Rwanda) Ibrahim Baré Maïnassara (Niger)… the list is endless. The assassinations delayed Africa's freedom and plunged the continent into endless civil wars. Coincidence? Today, despair is all that remains, if not puppets. The machinery of suffering Sadly, it is those with melanin-rich skin who bear the brunt of modern warfare, even though we can hardly assemble a hand grenade, let alone manufacture the weapons that rain down upon us. Our former colonisers control the global armaments industry, producing everything from atomic bombs to mortar shells, and now, the latest horrors: kamikaze drones – loitering munitions designed to explode on impact, acting as the weapon itself – and reusable combat or surveillance drones, which drop bombs or fire missiles before returning to base. The world's leading arms exporters, nations that once carved up Africa and Asia, continue to profit from the endless cycle of violence, flooding conflict zones with weapons while preaching peace from raised podiums. Yet, my leader, for every so-called 'success' in these remote wars, a drone operator or pilot sits in a distant room, pressing a button that ends 100 lives here, a dozen there and 300 somewhere else. Somehow, in between the killing, they pause, give each other high-fives, and their countries honour them with medals dripping with blood. Careers are built and the orgy of rape, murder and mayhem continues. I wonder what these men tell their children when the end comes. Do they speak of honour, dignity and duty to country, or do they whisper of nightmares, regret and blood-soaked hands? Who will answer for the suffering of women and children in Lebanon, Gaza, Iran, Mozambique, Kenya, Nigeria and the next place marked for destruction? The world's top five arms exporters by value The five largest arms exporters in the world by value between 2020 and 2024 are the US, France, Russia, China and Germany. The US leads by a wide margin, accounting for 43% of global arms exports, followed by France (9.6%), Russia (7.8%), China (5.9%) and Germany (5.6%). Except for Germany, the world's leading exporters of deadly weaponry that kill and maim people mostly with melanin-rich skin, crude oil reserves and critical group minerals, so happened by accident of 'history' to own nuclear weapons. Coincidence? Till next week, my man – send me nowhere near Big Men with Biggest Lies, Egos and Thickest Wallets. DM
