Ziphozonke Lushaba

Suspended ANC Youth League president Julius Malema

Juju is gone! Long live the king! Those were some of the obituaries I read in Sunday’s newspapers, but let me be one of the first to tell you that we have not heard the last of Mr M and that he will continue to haunt us with his loud mouth, arrogance and lack of tact for years to come.

I notice that some in the ANC hierarchy – and we know who they are – are already commenting on his suspension and when it will kick in. Of course, he also has 14 days to appeal to the body which originally suspended him. I have never understood quite how the so-called laws of politics work but mark my words… he is not going away and if Jacob Zuma went from a courtroom straight to the top post in the land, I see no reason why Julius Malema cannot.

Many will disagree, but I stand by my words. I don’t want it, but it could happen.

And from the taboo dinnertable topic of politics, we move swiftly onto religion – a subject I learnt a lot more about in Johannesburg last week.

Sadly, the death of my brother-in-law’s mother brought him from the US to Durban, where she died.

The funeral took place in Johannesburg so my family and I travelled there last weekend (hence the fact that there was no column last Monday).

I must say it was a fascinating and moving experience attending a Jewish funeral. The West Park cemetery seems to be the size of Durban as it stretches over hectares and hectares of prime Johannesburg real estate.

Because two of my cousins are Jewish and my father’s mother was born Jewish, I supposedly have one quarter Jewish blood running through my veins and have long been familiar with some of the traditions and rituals. But this was my first funeral as an adult.

So my son Daniel (a good Old Testament name) and I donned our yarmulkes and were given the honour of being two of the pallbearers.

We wheeled the coffin into a hearse and then, in a minibus with about 30 other mourners, drove far into the distance of West Park in the searing heat.

At the graveside it was very solemn, with the coffin being lowered into the grave as we were arriving and not, as in Christian funerals, at the end of the prayers.

A rabbi had flown up from Durban and read extensively from a Hebrew prayer book, then the pallbearers all took turns at shovelling three spadefuls of sand on to the coffin. Others then joined in, though Daniel, being one of the youngest and fittest there, was required to continue shovelling until the coffin was covered.

Funerals are always emotional and I found myself teary-eyed and also drawn into the rituals and traditions of the Jewish faith.

On our way out, we are all required to stop at a small building with several basins where, with a small pail of water, we had to wash our hands alternately three times before leaving.

Then followed a celebration of the life of my brother-in-law’s mother at a nearby home.

Apart from the funeral, the trip to Johannesburg also served the purpose of providing my daughter with an opportunity to test her recently-acquired driving skills and what a star she turned out to be.

Johannesburg’s highways, freeways and interchanges are daunting at the best of times, but we managed just fine, and when we did find ourselves lost in Louis Botha Avenue, we stopped at a garage for directions and discovered that all was not lost. Very soon we found ourselves on the M40 en route back to Bryanston.

We also got my daughter’s GPS working on her BlackBerry which meant that when we went out over the next two days, we knew more or less where we were headed.

For yours truly, it was a chance to enjoy myself at a couple of restaurants and not worry about having that extra glass of wine and then having to drive home.

Yes, having a daughter at the wheel with your son navigating from the GPS is truly the way to go.

What a pity she has gone back to the University of Pretoria and I am without a dedicated driver. Any takers?