Which witch-hunt?

Such larks, as Tiny Tim might have had it, caused CHRIS BENNETT’S eyes to roll towards heaven.

ISN’T nature wonderful? I have been watching the antics of the good folk of the South Coast for some years now; to my considerable enlightenment, my not inconsiderable bemusement and now my overarching astonishment.

I live close to Nzimakwe, a sprawling, dusty settlement, characteristic of this part of the world. The dirt roads are rutted and holed, rendering them dangerous enough, without the presence of those drivers who cannot drive, of whom there are many. There is no piped water apart from that to the leaking standpipes, fountains of waste of frightening proportions, and there seems to be not a lot left in the fountains of hope. This is a difficult one to measure, because after visiting the place several times a month for more than six years I still know very few people beyond a nodding acquaintance.

There is an exception: his name is not Jabu, but that will do. He has worked for me for all this time and we have become good friends, notwithstanding that our points of reference are poles apart. A couple of weeks ago they were polls apart as we did our respective vote casting.

One of the remarkable facets of this election was the patience and determination of the people. They voted; they voted in droves.

Of course, as soon as the dust had begun to settle we saw people who seem to think they are in high places indulging in boyish (and girlish) name-calling and mud-slinging.

It is interesting to look at India. Their election results were announced yesterday after five weeks of voting by 714 million registered voters who trudged to 888 000 voting stations to exercise their democratic right.

No sooner had the results been confirmed, than the losing opposition Bharatiya Janata Party leader rang the president of the Indian Congress Party, the winners, and congratulated her (Ms Sonia Ghandi) on her party’s excellent victory and pledged his party to work with the new government for the betterment of all India. So where were our lot? Don’t ask.

Meanwhile, back in the dust, a little drama was playing our in the courtroom at Port Shepstone. A group of 50 so-called youths (that’s rubbish; Jabu was among them and he is 30; a youth ceases to be a youth at 18, remember?) was hauled before the beak and charged with public disturbance or some such quaint term.

Their offence was a little less quaint. These miserable men had decided that six women and another man were witches. These people, who could hardly be anything but innocent of witchcraft (they may have other skeletons in the cupboard, but not witchcraft), were apparently hounded by the accused. To my knowledge this fiasco has been going on for more than 18 months.

The costs must now border on the unimaginable, and the defendants have received, or so I am told, no recompense or help to cope with costs of transport and loss of earnings (thanks for all the money saved, guys). Port Shepstone is a long way off.

It is understandable that in the minds of these fine people there may be echoes of earlier unsavoury practices and customs. But we have moved on.

If we can take our elections seriously, if not our post election posturing, could we not bring ourselves into the 20th, maybe even the 21st, century?

Oh! for a little sitar music and a cooling lassi.