Memory Project: The Bicycle

 

 

 

 

A bicycle is a human-powered vehicle consisting primarily of a frame, two wheels, pedals, a chain, gears, handlebars, and brakes. The frame acts as the core structure connecting all parts and supporting the rider's weight. The pedals connect to cranks which turn the chainrings, transferring power via a chain to the rear wheel, propelling the bicycle forward. The wheels are spoked and designed to be strong yet lightweight, supporting the rider and allowing smooth rotation. Gears and derailleurs control the chain position to change the mechanical advantage, facilitating easier pedalling on different terrains. Handlebars steer the front wheel to change direction, while brakes slow or stop the bicycle by applying friction to the wheels. (And the saddle? Very difficult to ride a bike if you can’t sit on it.)

 

I was given my first bike when I turned five. It was too big for me, even though my father set the saddle as low as it would go. Instead of getting me a smaller model, or waiting for my legs to grow longer, he cut four two-inch thick blocks of wood and bolted them to the pedals, thereby overcoming the discrepancy between my height and the size of the frame. He then expended considerable time and energy running up and down Dalton Road, where we lived in Fish Hoek, all the while helping me to remain upright. After a few of these sessions he began to remove his steadying hand for incrementally longer periods

until I was maintaining an upright position on my own. When I began to wobble, he shouted after me to keep pedalling, or I would fall off. This was when I first came across the physics of circular motion and discovered the importance of gyroscopic as well as centrifugal force.

It was not long after teaching me to ride that my father packed his old leather-bound suitcase and caught a train to Rhodesia. His intention was to start a new, more prosperous life and he soon contacted my mother and told her to pack up, find a removal firm and sell the house. This she did, singlehandedly, before boarding a train bound for Gwelo, a place somewhere in darkest Africa. She was accompanied by her three children, Alan 9, me 5, and Jean 9 months.

My father had acquired a low cost 3-bedroom house designed for habitation by low class European immigrants, and when the pantechnicon finally arrived from South Africa at this residence where we were waiting, Alan and I were overjoyed to see the two bicycles being offloaded. I consider this as marking the start of my cycling career.

From that time to the present day, I have never been without a bike for more than a year. In Rhodesia we went to and from school, frequented the Municipal Swimming Pool, visited other kids, ran errands, and generally went everywhere on what, to us, was the greatest invention to come out of the industrial Revolution.

Getting onto a bike was like overcoming gravity, and that feeling of freedom from being shackled to the ground still exhilarates me. That is not to claim cycling is without limitations and physical challenges requiring a great deal of physical exertion at time. Like when encountering a hill or a headwind. And it can be dangerous, too. Many motorists resent the presence of cyclists on the road and have been known to deliberately knock them over if they don’t get out of the way. When Alan was about 14, he hit a termite mound while taking a shortcut across a rough stretch of open veld. From the moment of impact to when he arrived back at the house, he had no recollection and, on examining the egg-sized lump on his head, my mother put two and two together and diagnosed a case of concussion. While a student in Grahamstown, Guy came off at high speed near the bottom of Prince Alfred Street and sustained multiple bruises and abrasions as well as a gash on the chin, which required stitching, and left him with a scar. I think he is a little proud of this minor disfigurement, seeing it more as the result of a war wound than an act of recklessness. I, too, have had mishaps, the most serious of which took place one night in Arcadia Street near the bottom of Crest Road more than 20 years ago. I can’t remember why I was riding in the dark but, at any rate, it proved a foolish thing to do. When I was about two metres from a middle-aged couple walking in the road ahead of me, I sensed their presence and swerved wildly. The man was knocked off his feet and I crashed to the ground, skidding on my back before striking my head on the tar. I wasn’t knocked unconscious, but actually saw stars in front of my eyes, as depicted in the comic books.

I used to think I had first got on a bike at an earlier age than anyone else in the family. That was until I was recently looking at an old album and came upon the photo of my mother standing astride her bicycle. Attached to her handlebars is a wicker shopping basket, and behind her is a baby chair. My little sister, not two years old, can be seen sitting in it and waving at the camera. So, that settles it: Jean, and not me, holds the record for the youngest to ride on a bike.

 

(Digression: In the background of this photograph is the first car from those days that I can remember. It was a 1950’s Ford Consul previously owned by an old man in Bulawayo. We all went through – I don’t recall how we got there – and drove the new acquisition the 100 miles back to Gwelo. The elderly gent had fitted a block on the floor next to the accelerator, so that, if one kept the foot slightly off-centre on the peddle, it was not possible to press down further than this ‘governor.’ This restricted the car’s top speed to 40 mph. Once on the open road, my father bypassed the obstacle and took the car up to 50. To our initial alarm and then amusement, clouds of dust began to billow from the roof lining like smoke. It proved be a reliable vehicle and was only replaced by a stronger Ford  Zephyra few years later in order to tow a caravan.)

My mother was a keen cyclist in her youth, and enjoyed using her Raleigh, winch had a three-speed set of gears, as her means of transport while Dad was away. He, on the other hand, never owned a bike in South Africa or Rhodesia. I find this strange, because he had belonged to a cycling club in the UK, and had won trophies in several competitions.

I went on to acquire several bicycles over the years. First, there was the one I used to get to and from school on. It was a basic model without gears but served its purpose right through the junior and senior school days. When I started working I bought a racing bike with drop handlebars, thin tyres and a six-speed derailleur. An obscure make, it was pale blue, and I rode it hard for about six years until it was stolen while chained to a lamp post outside the main entrance to Groote Schuur Hospital. I used to cycle from Woodstock to Fish Hoek for lunch with Mum and Dad, and Jean, occasionally, on a Sunday. After two or three post prandial brandies and ginger ale, to ride back in thick traffic was an exhilarating challenge. It was on that bike that I entered the Argus Cycle Tour in 1979. I finished in the first hundred of a field of about 1500, which shows how fit I must have been.

It was shortly after the race that the blue bike was stolen, and I replaced it with a second hand Peugeot, wine red in colour. This, too, was destined to be taken from me by thieves. Before that calamity, however, I bought an old ‘dikwiel’ that might have belonged to a postman, but probably wasn’t, as it was not standard Government black. Of an indeterminate colour somewhere between green and blue, it is still in my possession, if some miscreant hasn’t nicked it from the shed while I sit here writing this drivel. I purchased it for its fat tyres, which suited it for the gravel roads in Pearly Beach.

In 1983 I participated in the Argus for a second time, mounted on the Peugeot and accompanied by Leonard. We set out in a field of several thousnand and got half way down the Blue Route when somebody cut in front of somebody else and caused a multiple pile-up. Leonard, poor chap, was brought down and landed heavily on his gammy hip. I dismounted in order to render assistance and help him back into the race. Barely able to get to his feet, it was soon apparent he would have to retire, and I was obliged to continue on my own. Despite losing at least five minutes at the accident site, I made good time and finished in the top 300 who completed the course.

The latest and, probably, the last two-wheeled conveyance to make up the list was recently acquired at the behest of Guy, who took pity on his aged father having to battle up hills and fight into the teeth of a gale without the assistance of gears. This is a modern mountain bike jointly owned by Martin and son. It is red, white and silver, has front suspension, and gears and disc brakes that are hydraulically operated, which makes my life considerably less strenuous. I would whizz about PB at high speed if my eyesight allowed it. Some 30 years ago, while my vision still permitted it, I enjoyed taking a ride from Westcliff out to the Vooelklip end of Hermanus after work. Coming back, and riding as hard as I could, my goal was the breakwater at the New Harbour. About 150 metres in length, it was usually deserted at that late time of day, and I was able to engage top gear and peddle furiously once on the concrete runway. The adrenalin-pumping climax came when I judged it time to slam on the brakes before doing an Evel Knievel into the ocean. This ritual helped me to believe there was more to life than being a builder.

Something all cyclists should bear in mind is that the crouching position they adopt encourages the build-up of gas in the gastro-intestinal tract. When peristalsis moves gas from the colon into the rectum a familiar sensation alerts one of the need to expel flatus, which is accomplished by relaxing the external anal sphincter. I have a strong memory of an occasion when I experienced just such a familiar sensation while riding back from Voelklip. Without thinking about it, I arose from the saddle and let rip with a vuvuzela-like blast. As chance would have it, another cyclist was in the process of overtaking me just at that moment. ‘I beg your pardon?’ the impudent fellow remarked as he went by. To disguise my embarrassment, I muttered something about jet propulsion. From that time on, I have always looked over my shoulder before spitting, snotting, farting or cursing and conversing aloud with myself.

No one who claims to be a veteran cyclist could deny having developed a neurotic fear of punctures. Mending a puncture entails removing the wheel and prising the tyre from the wheel rim in order to get at the inner tube. Once the leak is located, and this might require inflating the tube and immersing it in water and looking for telltale bubbles, it is then a matter of cutting a rubber patch, rounding the corners, applying solution to the puncture site as well as the patch, allowing them to dry until tacky, and then firmly pressing the two surfaces together. Then it is a matter of replacing the tube and tyre, and fitting the wheel to the bike. If successful, this process could take up to an hour of one’s time before the bicycle can be ridden once more. No wonder we detest punctures and their main cause: the dreaded duiweltjie. Also known as the duwweltjie, this diabolical plant (Tribulus  terrestis) bears small multi-spiked fruit specially designed to breach the tyre’s outer defences and penetrate the tautly distended soft rubber within.

One might think that to become a puncture victim far from home and without a repair kit would mean a long walk back pushing the incapacitated casualty. Such an assumption, however, does not take into account the resourcefulness of the impoverished inhabitants of Africa. I am thinking of an incident that took place on the Que Que road back in 1959. Alan, 14, and I, 9, had been to visit Plug Sellars on his parents’ smallholding 5 miles out of Gwelo. On our way back, three miles from home, my brother’s front tyre began to hiss like an angry snake. A minute later, he was forced to dismount. He said we would have to take turns pushing and riding, a suggestion I objected to. While we were arguing, a Native came peddling towards us. He must have been returning to the Reserve, for he had a sack of mealie meal draped over his handlebars and a large bundle strapped to his back carrier. He drew to a halt alongside us and took in the flat tyre.

“Puncture? Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

“You got pump?” Alan asked.

With difficulty, the man extricated himself from his laden mount and propped it up against a nearby Acacia tree. Of course, he had a pump, and soon used it to further antagonize the snake.

“Big puncture. Too big.”

Undeterred, he went to his baggage and came back with a roll of cobbler’s thread. He soon had the tyre separated from the rim and the tube removed. The puncture site was easy to locate, and we watched with fascination, not knowing what he was about to do next. He produced a kitchen knife, honed it on a nearby stone, and cut two short lengths of thread. I remember thinking that he could easily cut our throats wide open with that knife, but was unconcerned, because there was clearly no logical reason to do so. Close to the puncture, he looped one of the threads, pulled it as tight as he could and knotted it. As he began to repeat the procedure on the other side of the hole, we saw in a flash what he was up to. Aha! He was isolating the problem by inflicting a double strangulation on the tube. Once tube and tyre were back in place, he pumped up and said, “You ride fast.”

“Thank you maningi times,” Alan said as he jumped onto his bike. “You good muntu.”

His tyre was only half flat when we reached home half an hour later.

So much for punctures. The new bike has tubes that have been injected with a liquid that immediately seals a hole the moment air passes through it. I no longer fear the dreaded duiweltjie, and continue to enjoy the feeling of lightness and freedom whenever I get onto a bike.

 

Revolution: Chapter Ten

 

Chapter 10 – Feeding the Nation

(Image: Ideogram)

By the end of 2030, as the housing drive transformed skylines and the industrial sector surged, Harvey Jacobs and the Council turned their attention to a matter even more fundamental than shelter — food security.

For decades, South Africa’s agricultural sector had suffered from neglect, mismanagement, and political interference. Once the breadbasket of the region, it had been undermined by land uncertainty, violent crime, failing infrastructure, and erratic policy.

At the Council’s annual policy retreat held in Kimberley in early 2031, Jacobs opened proceedings with characteristic directness:

“No nation that cannot feed itself is free. Food is sovereignty; the farmer is the first defender of the Republic.”

Stabilising the Countryside

The Council recognised that agriculture could not thrive without security. Farm attacks, stock theft, and rural banditry had driven thousands of skilled farmers from the land, devastating production and morale.

Under the direction of Minister of Justice and Police Sakena Moloketsi, the government expanded the Rural Protection Command, a specialised branch of the police supported by the military and private security companies.

Modern surveillance systems, drones, and communication networks linked farming communities into rapid-response grids. Rural roads were repaired, and satellite patrol bases established to reduce response times. Within a year, incidents of rural violence dropped by more than 60%, and farmers — both commercial and emergent — reported a renewed sense of confidence.

Land Policy without Chaos

The Council also resolved one of the most contentious issues in post-apartheid history: land reform.

Rejecting populist demands for expropriation without compensation, Jacobs declared an unambiguous principle:

“The land will be shared, not seized. It will be productive, not political.”

Under the new National Agricultural Partnership Programme (NAPP), arable state-owned land was identified and released for redistribution. Additional parcels were purchased at fair market value from willing private sellers.

Prospective emergent farmers were required to undergo formal agricultural training, covering crop management, soil science, irrigation, and financial literacy. Only those who completed the programme successfully were allocated land, ensuring that recipients were equipped to succeed rather than destined to fail.

Each was paired with an experienced mentor — often a retired or semi-retired commercial farmer — who provided hands-on guidance for the first five years. These mentors were compensated through a state stipend and tax incentives.

Cooperative Farming and Shared Machinery

To overcome the barrier of capital costs, the government encouraged cooperative models. Machinery, irrigation systems, and storage facilities were shared among clusters of small farmers through locally managed agricultural cooperatives.

This model, adapted from successful schemes in Kenya and Brazil, allowed emerging farmers to access high-quality equipment without crippling debt. It also built community resilience, as members supported one another through fluctuating seasons and markets.

Expanding Infrastructure

Parallel to these reforms was a massive investment in rural infrastructure. Roads, silos, and cold-chain transport systems were upgraded to ensure that perishable produce reached markets quickly.

Provincial departments collaborated with the national Transport Ministry to rehabilitate thousands of kilometres of secondary roads linking rural areas to urban centres. Within two years, logistics costs dropped by nearly 25%, revitalising agricultural exports and local distribution alike.

Keeping People on the Land

A recurring problem in the previous decades had been the relentless migration of rural youth to overcrowded cities in search of opportunity. The Council moved decisively to reverse this trend by improving the quality of life in rural areas.

Basic services — electricity, healthcare, internet connectivity, and schooling — were extended to remote villages through targeted programmes. Agricultural towns were reclassified as rural development nodes, prioritised for investment in housing and micro-enterprise.

New vocational colleges specialising in farming technology, animal husbandry, and agribusiness management were established to train the next generation of rural entrepreneurs.

Technological Innovation

The Department of Agriculture and Food Security, working closely with universities and private-sector partners, launched a national drive for agricultural innovation.

Pilot projects introduced satellite-driven irrigation scheduling, soil-sensor technology, and drone-assisted crop monitoring. Mobile apps were developed to give farmers real-time access to weather data, pest alerts, and market prices.

Within five years, these technologies helped to increase average yields by 20–30%, especially among small and medium-sized producers.

Diversification and Sustainability

Environmental scientists on the Council insisted that expansion must not come at the cost of sustainability. Water management policies were tightened, with subsidies for drip irrigation and drought-resistant crops.

The government also incentivised agro-processing industries, encouraging local production of packaged foods, oils, and dairy products to reduce dependence on imports.

These value-added industries created jobs and boosted export capacity — particularly into Southern Africa, where demand for South African produce and processed goods rose steadily.

A Spirit of Cooperation

Perhaps the most remarkable change, however, was psychological. The rhetoric of racial hostility that had poisoned debates about land began to fade.

White commercial farmers, once vilified, were again regarded as national assets, while black emergent farmers were celebrated as the vanguard of renewal. Farmworkers, for the first time, were guaranteed profit-sharing agreements under the Rural Fairness Charter, ensuring that those who laboured on the land also shared in its rewards.

Jacobs summarised the new spirit succinctly:

“We have ended the war over land by ending the war in our hearts.”

HJ’s Address to the Nation

In his 2031 address, broadcast from the newly rebuilt Bloemfontein Agricultural College, Jacobs reflected on the transformation:

“When we took office, our shelves were empty, our fields neglected, our farmers afraid. Today, our granaries are filling, our markets are expanding, and the children of farmworkers are learning the science of soil and seed. This is how nations feed themselves — not by slogans, but by labour, courage, and knowledge.”

He praised the partnerships that had taken root between commercial agriculture, cooperatives, and the state, and ended with a call for vigilance:

“Let us never again confuse justice with vengeance. Let us never again destroy what feeds us in the name of politics. The soil belongs to all — but it yields only to those who care for it.”

The Harvest of Stability

By the close of 2032, agricultural exports had increased by nearly 40%, food prices stabilised, and South Africa once again achieved regional self-sufficiency.

In rural areas, crime rates fell, and young families began to return from the cities. Villages that had been fading into memory now hummed with life — grain silos, cooperatives, and small factories anchoring renewed local economies.

The countryside, long neglected, had become the quiet engine of the Revolution.

Revolution: Chapter Nine

 

(Image: Ideogram)

Chapter 9 – The Housing Drive: Building Dignity

By the third anniversary of the September Revolution, the Council’s achievements in restoring governance, stabilising the economy, and revitalising education had begun to bear fruit. Yet, as Harvey Jacobs repeatedly emphasised, “a nation cannot be said to have risen while its people still live in shacks.”

Nowhere was the legacy of inequality and state failure more visible than in the sprawling informal settlements that ringed South Africa’s cities. From Khayelitsha to Alexandra, from Umlazi to Galeshewe, millions of people continued to live without proper housing, sanitation, or ownership. It was, as Jacobs described in his 2029 National Address, “a visible wound on the conscience of the Republic.”

The Announcement

In that landmark address, Jacobs spoke plainly.

“We have rebuilt our institutions, we have begun to heal our schools and streets, but still our people live without walls strong enough to protect a child from the cold. This must end — not through handouts, but through the creation of opportunity. Over the next ten years, every South African family will be given the means to own a home built on dignity, not despair.”

The plan he unveiled became known as the National Housing and Infrastructure Drive (NHID) — an ambitious ten-year programme designed to transform both the built environment and the economy itself.

A Financial Innovation

At its heart lay a bold financial principle: state-guaranteed, low-interest mortgages issued through commercial banks.

The Council recognised that access to finance, not a lack of will or labour, was the main obstacle to home ownership among the working poor. Under the NHID, the government would provide long-term guarantees on mortgages for first-time buyers who met strict vetting criteria — proof of employment, a clean credit record, and a commitment to community standards.

This was not a giveaway. Each homeowner would contribute according to ability, but with interest rates capped at levels affordable even to low-income earners. The state guarantee meant that banks could lend safely, while borrowers gained access to credit markets previously closed to them.

Economists debated the plan intensely. Some warned of risk to public finances, but Cooper-Smith and the Treasury team argued that the long-term benefits outweighed the exposure. The construction boom, they reasoned, would stimulate demand across multiple sectors — steel, cement, timber, transport, and retail — generating revenue that would offset the guarantees.

Within six months of the announcement, the first pilot projects broke ground outside Johannesburg, Durban, and Bloemfontein.

Employment Through Construction

The NHID was more than a housing scheme; it was a national employment engine. Construction sites became hubs of work for previously unemployed youth, tradesmen, and suppliers.

By late 2029, over 400,000 workers were employed directly or indirectly in the housing and infrastructure sectors. Training programmes expanded to keep pace — bricklaying, plumbing, and electrical installation became high-demand trades, taught at new technical colleges built under the education reforms.

Each house built represented not just shelter, but a chain of productive activity linking dozens of industries.

Infrastructure and Community Design

The Council also rejected the old model of peripheral, dormitory-style housing. Instead, new developments were planned as integrated communities — complete with schools, clinics, libraries, and public transport links.

Urban planners emphasised walkability and green spaces. Where possible, renewable energy solutions such as solar micro-grids and water recycling systems were incorporated into designs.

The programme’s slogan — “Homes, not huts; communities, not camps” — captured its ethos of permanence and dignity.

Vetting and Oversight

To prevent corruption — the plague that had crippled previous housing programmes — the process was tightly monitored. The newly established Housing Integrity Board oversaw vetting and allocation, while the Community Liaison Officers (CLOs) played a crucial role in assisting applicants and ensuring transparency.

Each applicant underwent a background check and was required to attend workshops on ownership responsibilities, maintenance, and community governance. Fraudulent applications were prosecuted swiftly, sending a strong message that the new era would not tolerate the old habits.

Jacobs made the point repeatedly:

“This is not charity. It is a partnership between citizen and state. A house built on deceit will not stand.”

Economic and Social Effects

The economic impact was immediate. Demand for building materials surged, factories reopened, and transport companies expanded to meet logistical needs. The construction boom alone contributed nearly two percentage points to GDP growth by 2030.

At the same time, the social transformation was profound. Families that had spent decades in informal dwellings now possessed addresses, deeds, and a tangible stake in society. With ownership came pride, stability, and a visible reduction in crime and social unrest.

In many settlements, residents who once relied on illegal connections now paid for electricity and water. Local entrepreneurship flourished — spaza shops became supermarkets, backyard mechanics formalised their workshops, and small parks replaced refuse dumps.

Feasibility and Advantages

International observers were initially sceptical. The idea of guaranteeing millions of mortgages in a developing country seemed risky. But South Africa’s macroeconomic discipline — low external debt, careful monetary management, and strong export earnings — gave it the fiscal room to experiment.

Moreover, the multiplier effect of housing was undeniable. Every home built generated sustained economic activity across at least six other sectors. Studies later estimated that for every rand invested, the state gained 1.7 rand in economic return.

It was, in effect, a self-sustaining cycle of dignity and productivity.

A Moral Imperative

Jacobs saw the NHID as more than an economic policy — it was a moral one.

“For too long,” he told the National Assembly, “we have spoken of freedom while millions lived in bondage to poverty. True liberty begins when a family closes the door of its own home at night and knows that it is safe, secure, and theirs.”

Warning Against Corruption

The President ended his address with a characteristic warning — calm but unmistakable:

“This opportunity will not be stolen. Those who attempt to cheat, forge, or defraud this programme will face the full weight of the law. The house you take dishonestly today will be taken from you tomorrow. The age of impunity is over.”

The nation listened — and, for the most part, believed him.

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By the end of 2030, the first 150,000 homes had been completed. Rows of neat brick houses rose where tin shacks had once stood, and for the first time in a generation, the South African skyline seemed to reflect renewal rather than ruin.

The Revolution, now entering its mature phase, was beginning to deliver the tangible symbols of its promise: roofs over heads, ownership in hearts, and hope beneath every foundation stone.

 

Revolution:Chapter Eight

 

Chapter 8 – The Rebirth of Learning

By the second year of the Council’s stewardship, it had become evident that South Africa’s future depended not merely on political stability or economic revival, but on the quality of its education system.

In meeting after meeting, analysts repeated the same statistics: over 80% of public schools were classified as underperforming; literacy and numeracy levels had collapsed to among the lowest in the developing world; and entire generations of young people were leaving school unable to read, write, or calculate at the most basic level.

Harvey Jacobs often remarked that “no nation can be more prosperous than its classrooms.” Education, he insisted, was not a social service — it was the foundation of national survival.

Clearing Away the Ruins

The first task was a candid assessment of what had gone wrong. The Council’s Education Committee, chaired by Dr. Ayesha Lategan — a former university vice-chancellor known for her rigorous integrity — conducted a sweeping audit of the system.

The findings were grim. Schools had been used as political patronage networks. Procurement corruption had diverted funds meant for textbooks and infrastructure. Teacher absenteeism averaged 20% in some provinces, and training colleges that once produced competent educators had been closed during the austerity years.

The Council concluded that reform could not be piecemeal. It required a complete redesign of the state education system.

Partnership with the Private Sector

Recognising the limits of the public sector, the Council turned to private education providers. By 2028, South Africa already had a burgeoning network of independent and low-fee private schools serving nearly 15% of all learners. Many of these institutions — from urban academies to rural cooperatives — had achieved excellent results despite minimal government support.

Rather than viewing them as competitors, the new administration saw them as partners. Under the Public-Private Education Compact (PPEC), signed in mid-2028, these schools were integrated into a national framework of standards and accountability. The state would subsidise enrolments for low-income families, while private institutions shared best practices in management, teacher training, and assessment.

The move was controversial at first, but results were immediate: overcrowded government schools were relieved of pressure, and parental choice expanded dramatically.

Restoring the Teaching Profession

At the heart of the reform was the revival of teacher training. Between 2028 and 2030, fifteen new teacher training colleges were planned and constructed, with many built on the grounds of defunct campuses from the apartheid era. These new institutions combined traditional pedagogy with modern digital methods.

An aggressive recruitment drive targeted both university graduates and mid-career professionals willing to retrain as educators. Incentives included bursaries, housing allowances, and guaranteed placement in rural areas.

By the end of 2030, the country had added nearly 45,000 new teachers, while a strict national competency exam ensured that only qualified candidates entered the classroom.

New Philosophies for a New Society

The Council did not merely want better schools — it wanted better citizens.

Drawing on advice from education theorists and child psychologists, it introduced the Montessori system for the first four years of primary schooling. This child-centred approach, with its emphasis on curiosity, independence, and sensory learning, replaced rote memorisation with exploration and problem-solving.

Pilot projects showed striking results: within one year, literacy rates in Montessori-based classrooms were 40% higher than those following the old state curriculum. Teachers reported greater engagement and fewer behavioural problems.

The Council also restored neglected areas of cultural education. Music and drama appreciation, once dismissed as “non-essential,” returned to the syllabus. Research had shown that arts education improved empathy, concentration, and discipline — qualities that a divided society sorely needed.

A Multilingual Nation

Another bold reform addressed the country’s linguistic divides. All white, Coloured, and Indian learners were now required to study an African language up to matric level. This, Jacobs argued, was about more than communication — it was about cohesion.

“A people who can speak to one another,” he told the National Education Summit, “will find it harder to hate one another.”

African language teachers were recruited and trained at scale, and within three years, every high school in the country offered at least one indigenous language as a core subject.

Literacy, Libraries, and Learning Culture

The Council launched a national literacy campaign, rebuilding libraries in rural towns and townships. By 2030, more than 600 community libraries had been refurbished or newly established, each linked to mobile digital networks providing e-books and open-source educational material.

Reading competitions, storytelling festivals, and adult literacy drives rekindled a culture of reading that had been lost in decades of decline.

Preparing for Life and Work

Recognising that education must prepare young people for life beyond school, the curriculum was broadened to include driving instruction and technical skills training.

By learning to drive responsibly before leaving school, learners entered adulthood with discipline and practical ability — a change that dramatically reduced road accidents. Within four years, the Road Safety Bureau recorded a 30% decline in fatal collisions, saving thousands of lives and billions in medical and insurance costs.

At the same time, vocational training centres were expanded to feed the growing demand for skilled artisans in construction, manufacturing, and infrastructure development. These centres produced electricians, welders, and mechanics who became the backbone of the new industrial boom.

The Early Results

By the fifth year of the Revolution, the education system was showing measurable improvement. National literacy rates rose by 15%, and dropout rates began to decline for the first time in two decades. The number of students entering tertiary education increased sharply, with technical colleges absorbing much of the new demand.

Foreign observers, once dismissive of South Africa’s prospects, began to cite the country as a model for post-crisis recovery through educational investment.

A Foundation Restored

In a televised address marking the third anniversary of the Council’s rule, Jacobs summarised the transformation:

“We inherited a generation betrayed by neglect. We will leave behind a generation awakened by learning.”

Education, he said, was not merely a reform — it was the Revolution’s moral centre, the instrument by which equality could be achieved not through policy, but through competence.

 

 

Revolution: Chapter Seven

 (Image: Reve)

Chapter 7 – Summary One: The Early Reforms

By the close of 2027, a year after the September Intervention, the effects of the Council’s reforms had begun to reshape South African society in visible and measurable ways. While challenges persisted — especially in housing, education, and rural poverty — there was a growing sense that the machinery of government was finally moving with purpose and direction.

Ending the Politics of Patronage

One of the earliest and most consequential policy shifts was the abolition of Affirmative Action and Black Economic Empowerment (BEE). These programmes, once conceived as instruments of redress, had over time become mechanisms of enrichment and exclusion.

The Council’s own audit, later published as the Jacobs White Paper on Equity, found that less than 5% of BEE beneficiaries had come from genuinely disadvantaged backgrounds. The rest were politically connected elites who used their proximity to power to extract rents from public contracts, often without adding productive value.

The Council concluded that these policies had entrenched dependency and division rather than promoting equality. As Jacobs remarked in one meeting:

“Empowerment is not a gift from government; it is the ability to compete freely, without corruption and without fear.”

With their repeal, the economy began to open up. Procurement processes were simplified, investment regulations liberalised, and new legislation ensured that contracts were awarded purely on merit and capacity. Within six months, reports from the Chamber of Commerce showed a dramatic surge of business confidence.

The Return of Investment

By early 2028, a wave of foreign investment began to flow back into South Africa. Firms from Europe, Asia, and North America, long deterred by corruption and racial quotas, returned to re-establish partnerships in mining, manufacturing, and logistics.

New industrial parks were developed near Durban and Port Elizabeth, where once-idle warehouses thrummed again with production. The stock market rose steadily, the rand strengthened, and exports climbed as global confidence returned.

The Council’s economists credited this not only to deregulation but to a restoration of basic trust — a government perceived as competent, honest, and committed to the rule of law.

Mobilising the Educated Unemployed

At the same time, the Council launched an initiative that would become one of its most successful and widely praised reforms: the creation of a new cadre of Community Liaison Officers (CLOs).

The idea emerged from a report presented by a team of sociologists and educators who warned that unemployment among graduates — especially in the social sciences and humanities — was approaching crisis levels. Thousands of educated young people, trained in communication and analysis, were languishing without purpose.

Rather than viewing them as a burden, the Council saw an opportunity.

In early 2028, it authorised the recruitment and training of 250,000 unemployed graduates. They underwent a three-month course in data capture, digital systems, and basic social work, coordinated by the Department of Public Administration. Upon completion, they were deployed across the nation’s provinces as Community Liaison Officers.

Their mission was twofold:

1. To gather detailed, ground-level data on the needs, resources, and aspirations of every community — from informal settlements to remote villages. Each CLO was equipped with a tablet linked to a central database, allowing real-time mapping of poverty, unemployment, and infrastructure gaps.
2. To act as bridges between citizens and the state, explaining new government programmes, employment opportunities, and civic responsibilities. They also monitored the distribution of the Basic Income Grant and ensured that corruption or double-dipping was reported swiftly.

The results were immediate and profound. For the first time in living memory, government decisions were based on accurate, localised data rather than outdated statistics. Communities that had once felt ignored now had a direct channel to the state.

As one newspaper editorial put it: “The government is finally listening — and the people know it.”

A Nation Renewed

These early reforms created a self-reinforcing cycle. The return of investment generated jobs; the Community Liaison network ensured that information and opportunity reached the grassroots; and the Basic Income Grant provided a floor beneath which no citizen could fall.

The crime rate dropped sharply as steady income and visible policing restored community stability. Informal traders began to flourish again, and taxi routes, once plagued by turf wars, were regulated and subsidised to encourage cooperation rather than conflict.

Above all, there was a perceptible shift in mood. Newspapers that had once printed daily tales of scandal now carried reports of restored hospitals, reopened factories, and newly paved roads. A public opinion poll conducted by the Institute for Civic Studies in late 2028 found that 78% of citizens believed the country was “moving in the right direction.”

The Quiet Transformation

The Council remained cautious. Jacobs often warned his colleagues that early success could breed complacency. “We are not yet healed,” he reminded them, “we are merely breathing again.”

But even he admitted that the change in national temperament was remarkable. For the first time in a generation, hope outweighed cynicism.

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By the end of the first full year after the coup, the foundations of renewal were firmly in place: a cleaner government, a revitalised economy, and a society beginning to believe in itself again. The Revolution had moved from survival to reconstruction — from the act of taking power to the far more complex work of wielding it wisely.

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Revolution: Chapter Six

 

  

(Image: Ideogram)

 Chapter 6 – The Second Address to the Nation

The Second Address to the Nation, delivered on 15 December 2026, was the most widely watched broadcast in South Africa’s modern history. By then, the shock of the September Intervention had faded into a cautious acceptance. Ordinary citizens, though still wary of the Council’s extraordinary powers, could not deny that the streets were safer, electricity supply steadier, and salaries once again being paid on time.

Dr Harvey Jacobs appeared before the cameras in the same understated style that had come to define his leadership — no uniform, no medals, only a dark suit and the national flag behind him. Beside him stood Minister Sakena Moloketsi, the embodiment of justice and reform. Together they would announce the government’s next phase: stability through justice and work.

The Address

“Fellow South Africans,” Jacobs began, his voice steady and deliberate,
“Three months ago, we took a step that no one desired but everyone knew was inevitable. We acted because your country had reached the edge of collapse. Today, I stand before you to report that South Africa is still standing — and beginning, at last, to walk forward.”

He outlined the Council’s accomplishments: the end of rampant cable theft, the dismantling of criminal syndicates, and the stabilisation of the banking system. He then moved to the subject that most citizens cared about — jobs.

“Our greatest wealth has always been our people. Yet for too long, millions of able-bodied men and women have been idle while our roads crumble and our towns decay. We are changing that. The new policy of development finance allows us to fund work — real work — not through debt to foreign banks, but through the strength of our own hands and hearts. This is not reckless spending; it is purposeful investment. We are creating money that builds, not money that burns.”

Jacobs explained debt monetisation in the simplest possible terms:

“When we build a bridge, a school, or a clinic, we create something of value that strengthens our nation. The currency that pays for that work is backed by the asset itself — by the bridge, the school, the clinic. That is how a sovereign country uses its own strength to rebuild.”

He described the early results: over a million people employed in public works and construction, new contracts for local manufacturers, and the reopening of training colleges. Inflation, he said, remained under control because “we are increasing the number of goods and services at the same time as the number of rands in circulation.”

“Every worker who earns an income buys food from a farmer, clothes from a factory, and transport from a driver. That money circulates and multiplies. That is how an economy heals itself — not from the top down, but from the ground up.”

He paused, letting the words settle.
Then he addressed the principle that underpinned the Council’s philosophy: rights and obligations.

“Every citizen has the right to safety, to food, to work, to dignity. But every citizen also has the obligation to respect the law, to protect the vulnerable, and to contribute to the rebuilding of our nation. Freedom without responsibility is an empty slogan. We must prove, by our actions, that we deserve the freedom we claim.”

Jacobs then turned to the topic of law and order, inviting Minister Sakena Moloketsi to speak.

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Minister Moloketsi’s Statement

Moloketsi’s address was calm but firm, her tone that of a jurist addressing a courtroom rather than a crowd.

“My fellow citizens,” she said, “for years you have lived in fear — fear of crime, of corruption, of being failed by those sworn to protect you. That time is ending.”

She outlined the extensive reform of the police and justice system. Thousands of officers had been vetted; hundreds dismissed or prosecuted for corruption. Training academies were reopened to instill professionalism and respect for human rights.

“We are purging the service of the bad and honouring the good. The police of the new South Africa will not be feared; they will be trusted.”

She described new special courts created to expedite cases and end the endless cycle of appeals that had clogged the justice system. The suspension of appeal rights, she explained, was temporary but necessary to restore speed and certainty.

“Justice delayed,” she said, “is justice denied. For too long, criminals have mocked the system by appealing again and again while their victims wait for years. That ends now.”

Moloketsi then addressed gangs, syndicates, and organised crime. Operations across the country had seized illegal firearms, shut down drug laboratories, and broken extortion networks. Dozens of ringleaders were under arrest.

“But policing alone cannot save us,” she continued. “Safety is everyone’s responsibility. If you know of criminal activity, report it. Do not buy stolen goods. Every rand spent on stolen copper, every drop of fuel from a hijacked truck, helps destroy your own community. We are asking you to take back your streets, your homes, your future.”

Finally, she spoke with passion about Gender-Based Violence and the protection of the vulnerable. New legislation, drafted under her supervision, established special courts for GBV cases and guaranteed psychological and medical support for survivors.

“A society is measured not by how it treats the powerful, but by how it protects those who cannot protect themselves,” she declared. “We will no longer tolerate the culture of silence and impunity.”

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Closing Remarks

When Moloketsi finished, Jacobs returned to the podium. His closing words were concise, resolute, and hopeful:

“We are not the masters of South Africa — we are its servants. The Council has no desire to rule forever. We exist only to repair what was broken and to hand back a nation stronger than before. But until that day, we ask for your cooperation, your discipline, and your trust. Together, we are proving that freedom and order can coexist — that law can be both firm and fair, and that justice can walk hand in hand with compassion.”

He ended with a line that would be replayed countless times in the years ahead:

“The law protects the people, and the people protect the law.”

The broadcast concluded with the national flag displayed against the rising sun over Pretoria, a symbolic image that would soon become emblematic of the Reconstruction Period.

Public reaction was overwhelmingly positive. Communities reported a renewed sense of confidence; crime rates fell further; and, for the first time in years, optimism began to replace cynicism. The address was widely seen as the moment when the Council’s rule shifted from provisional to purposeful — when the revolution ceased to be merely an act of rescue and became an act of rebuilding.

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