Preamble

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I'm 40 years old [At the time, December 31, 2008, of writing].

My grandparents, probably born in the middle-to-late 19th Century, lived in a mud hut with thatch for a roof and earth for the floor. Time was measured in seasons and moons. Ten, twenty, thirty-year plans were unknown to them. “What was a 'year'? Who lived that long?” they would have asked. The only taxes they knew were non-enforceable contributions to the local chief. Usury was unheard of. Wars were fought face-to-face with the chiefs personally leading the fight.

Their lives were brutal and short but sweet.

My father was born circa 1920. As an adult in colonial Africa, he lived in a tiny, mud-bricked house with thin tin coated steel sheets for a roof and the thinnest layer of concrete for the floor.

He knew about taxes. There was an enforceable hut tax in his era that subjugated village chiefs, who were by then reduced to headmen, collected from their subjects – whether one had an income or not. The tax system was designed to force my father's generation to seek employment. Which they did, and it, at least, drove them from living in mud-huts to living in mud-bricked houses.

A small improvement, you would say.

He knew about interest rates or its equivalent; not least from local Shylocks who always demanded more than they he had borrowed. Dad lived in debt until after his retirement when he could not be lent money anymore. But as tradition dictated he could not directly admit it to us, his children, despite the fact that we occasionally witnessed the parasitical relationships with his lenders. Thus he missed the opportunity to instil in us the discipline of living within our means.

And he barely understood inflation, that is, if he had heard about it.

He could "see" beyond a year but I doubt he ever adequately planned for what would happen beyond that. Ten, twenty, thirty-year plans were still a foreign concept to his generation [the generation, which, by the way, became our first liberation leaders].

Take for example, concrete. It was a novelty and even the thinnest of layers seemed to last “forever”. Even when it started cracking after a year or so to reveal the earth underneath, it did not bother them as that is the kind of floor on which they grew up. It does not require a leap of logic to imagine our new leaders neglecting the maintenance of tarred roads – another novelty - especially when told they would last twenty years [with regular maintenance of course].

In a nutshell my Dad’s life, though somewhat improved, was a daily struggle.

I was born in 1968. My place and date of birth was actually recorded [March 2, 1968]. However, due to a combination of factors - a house fire that consumed my birth records, forgetful minds and without a tradition of celebrating birthdays – I came up with my own date of birth [April 12, 1968][after a few enquiries very early on in my life].

And, after learning the above, you still wonder why western [and dare I say mostly northerly] star astrology does not apply to (older and mostly southerly) Africans?

I was born "free". Post colonial.

Our liberation leaders, despite their shortcomings, saw to it that the post-colonial generation received adequate, albeit western, education. So you’d say I am fairly educated.

In my eyes, a house with concrete for a floor is unfinished. At the very least it must be tiled or carpeted. My generation has moved on from thin steel sheets, through asbestos to a ceiling under slate roof tiles; from mud untreated bricks to face bricks.

I know quite a bit about the world of finance, the interplay between inflation and interest rates, about stock exchanges and the trading of shares, coupons and derivates. I know about investments, unit trusts and, on the dark-side, about pyramid schemes and the like.

I can and have had detailed five, less-detailed ten and rough twenty-year plans. I can "see" the future. Maintenance is second nature, for I know, nothing, absolutely nothing, lasts forever - including earth itself and possibly the entire universe.

But I live in debt. My life, though somewhat greatly improved, is a monthly struggle.

So what is it that I must relay to my children and my children’s children so they may prosper beyond their imagination?

It starts with a belief system of family and community values passed on and improved upon at a personal and collective level from one generation to the next.

That is the thread, the secret if you so wish, that runs through some of the great societies that have built monuments that have lasted for millennia.