Once upon a time, a young and handsome king ruled over a land of mountainous splendor near the southern tip of Africa. He liked to get married, and as the years passed he took 13 wives, each of them a great beauty.
His countrymen wanted His Majesty to be happy, but some also thought so many spouses were an extravagance for a poor, tiny nation. After all, the king, Mswati III, often provided these wives a retinue, a palace and a new BMW.
A great event was soon forthcoming – today, in fact. To prepare for the day – the 40-40 Celebration, so-named to honor the king's 40th birthday and the nation's 40th year of independence – a new 15,000-seat stadium was built and a fleet of BMWs was ordered for the comfort of visiting dignitaries.
Once again, some people wondered how the kingdom, Swaziland, could afford the expense. Some 1,500 of them marched in protest through the capital after news reports said that several of the queens and their entourages had gone on an overseas shopping trip aboard a chartered plane.
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Indeed, as the big day neared, other protests drew thousands more into the streets of the country's two biggest cities. “The king spends our money and is not answerable to anyone!” complained Mario Masuku, the head of an outlawed political party.
The rowdiest of the demonstrators flung rocks, looted goods from sidewalk vendors and even set off a few small explosions. Others made impromptu placards with torn-up cardboard. “Down with 40-40!” read one, while another demanded, “Democracy now!”
The angriest of them went so far as to insist the nation had little to celebrate. Poverty has entrapped two-thirds of the people, leaving hundreds of thousands of them malnourished. The country has one of the worst rates of HIV infection in the world. Life expectancy has fallen from 60 years in 1997 to barely half that now. Nearly a third of all children have lost a parent.
“How can the king live in luxury while his people suffer?” asked Siphiwe Hlophe, a human rights activist. “How much money does he need?”
That question was as confounding as it was impertinent. In the government's latest budget, about $30 million was set aside for “royal emoluments.”
But surely the king's income exceeds that, people said. The royal family also controls a corporate business empire “in trust for the nation,” investing in sugar cane, commercial property and a newspaper. Forbes.com recently listed Mswati as the world's 15th wealthiest monarch, estimating his fortune at $200 million.
But is this not the way of the world? The king, after all, is the king. The poor, after all, are the poor. Percy Simelane, the government's spokesman, was quoted by Agence France-Presse last week as saying: “Poverty has been with us for many years. We cannot then sit by the roadside and weep just because the country is faced with poverty. We have made great strides as a country that gives us pleasure in celebrating 40 years of independence and the king's birthday.”
Indeed, most of Swaziland's 1.1 million people love their monarch. Mswati's father, Sobhuza II, was especially revered. He was more frugal than his son, transporting the royal family in buses, not BMWs.
Mswati succeeded his father in 1986, and in 2005, after much give and take, signed a new constitution. But it was a peculiar document, guaranteeing individual liberties with one hand and preserving the absolute monarchy with the other.
Under this arrangement, it was hard for an outsider to tell where the monarchy ended and the government began. But most Swazis see things entirely otherwise. As a local saying goes, “A king is a mouth that does not lie.” The government is bad, people tend to conclude, but the king is good. “Others in authority abuse their power, not the king,” explained Ncoyi Mkhonta, the acting chief of the village Mahlangatsha.
Corruption is bleeding the treasury, but His Majesty's exalted status has complicated the work of law enforcement. The finance minister has publicly estimated that $5 million – and maybe as much as $8 million – is siphoned each month.
The latest corruption-fighting commission is headed by H.M. Mtegha, a retired judge from Malawi. He is not optimistic: “If we go after someone high up and he says the king told me to do this, what can I do? To be satisfied, I'd have to ask the king himself, and this cannot be done. The king is immune.”