Two political peas seeking a suitable pod
President Thabo Mbeki is already seen as yesterday’s man in South Africa, and that title could befall the Taoiseach, well, as early as tomorrow, if you buy the lines from the opposition, or read between the ones from John Gormley.
The two met at Union Buildings in Pretoria, a magnificent structure finished at the same time as Stormont, though far more lavish as the white minority government had a lot more people to exploit than its Belfast equivalent.
We were told the summit was a huge success, not that Mr Mbeki made it to the joint press conference afterward.
Apparently he was “too tired after coming back from his holidays”.
The South African press corp sensed a slightly more plausible reason might be he was running scared of being questioned over the spectacular resignation amid allegations of corruption of the man he appointed to run the country’s police force (and, more worryingly, then used that position to become head of Interpol).
The no-show was a shame as Mr Mbeki can certainly turn a colourful phrase. Like the time he accused the Western media’s coverage of the Aids epidemic as promoting an image of African men so promiscuous they “couldn’t keep it in their trousers”.
Indeed, his views on Aids would be wholly laughable if they were not so ignorant and dangerous coming from the head of a country where more than 25% of the population is infected with HIV.
Deputy president Mlambo-Ngucka was wheeled out in his stead, and in a ruse to outmanoeuvre the snub, the robust local press tried to get some mileage out of Mr Ahern over the other great scandal rocking South Africa, the election of corruption- claim-dogged Jacob Zuma to the head of the ANC, and therefore Mr Mbeki’s obvious successor next year. Would such an event not damage relations with the EU? Mr Ahern was asked.
Mrs Mlambo-Ngucka turned to him and said “Good luck” through an icy smile.
What followed was several minutes in which Mr Ahern made vocal noises, used recognisable sounding words, gesticulated a lot with his hands, and said absolutely nothing of any meaning or interest.
Madam deputy president beamed at him: “An excellent answer!”
It wasn’t that special, baby, that’s how he gets through every week in the Dáil.
Mr Ahern’s masterclass in diplomacy was only let down by the fact that, either due to mispronunciation or jetlag, he seemed to be under the impression he had just met President Beaky.
The fun at Union Building ensured Mr Ahern’s party was almost an hour late for Enterprise Ireland’s trade mission lunch where indulgence was the order of the day as the erotic undertones of the menu made even an old pro like Nigela Lawson appear as drab as a prim Mrs Doyle by comparison.
Not only could we begin the five course meal with the delights of a “decadent parmesan topped with a thin puff pastry shard” but we would finish with a “hot Irishman Irish coffee mouse”. South African business leaders must believe this is how families in Mullingar feast every day.
And then it was off to Tanzania. As his motorcade sped out of the oppressive dreary wreck of a city that is Johannesburg, perhaps Mr Ahern had a moment to reflect on what he and Thabo could do when they step down in the near future.
They would certainly earn more on the international lecture circuit as a duo than alone. Perhaps a political equivalent of Pinky and Perky beckons.
Beaky and Bertie anyone?
