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Chapter 2
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19 C Chapter 2 n one accord, Premier Moagi Makgunda flowed and mingled with the throngs of white tourists swarming the Vatican. Regrettably, he noticed that many people found the Seven-hilled city a vast monument ever awe-inspiring and paling other archaic resorts including the Egyptian Pyramids and the Victoria Falls. Despite the morning being sunny and almost totally cloudless, an unforgiving cold blemished the day. Many people were in overcoats, woollen hats and gloves. Had the man he was about to meet on the sacred ground been agreeable, he should’ve met him at the museum of St Basil Cathedral in Moscow, or on a Kremlin thoroughfare. Whenever an opportunity availed itself and he had the time, Moagi flew to Moscow and often crossed the Urals range of mountains by train to tour the Siberian towns of Yekaterinburg, Novosibirsk and Krasnoyarsk. The peoples, plains and vegetation of Asiatic Russia fascinated him. Among Russians, he felt at peace and secure though children eyed him strangely, others merrily, for his skin colour and hair. Those who thought him joyous came to pinch and fidget with him assuming he was a goodwill clown out to break the monotony in the streets. Like most visitors to the Vatican, the premier showed interest in Bramante’s basilica, the marble statues overlooking St Peter’s Square, Bernini’s colonnade, the Appian Way, the Trevi Fountain, Michelangelo’s dome in the Sistine Chapel, and listened closely to the Roman guide blathering about the history of the revered shrine; the coronation of Emperor Charlemagne, the burial of St Peter’s relics and the Renaissance that gave the place a facelift. When others made the cross or paused in silence touched by the grandeur and reverence of the place, the premier did likewise, but inwardly perplexed how Europeans were able to construct an architectural marvel at a time his African ancestors were still in caves I 20 and dependent on hunting and gathering, and roots and tubers were the staple diet. Whenever the guide fell silent, the tourists erupted in many languages, chattering like wagtails ready for mating. He discerned Spanish, Greek, German, French and English, the speakers of the latter beside themselves with excitement on a promise they would be accorded time to meet the Pope. The politician appeared to share their excitement; he was an atheist averse to God, Catholicism and the idea of entombing a saint’s relics and passing that for the foundation of the Church. It was absurd that the learned prelates and archbishops, from time immemorial hitherto, had created themselves cardinals and popes in a manmade pagan shrine with a dead man’s bones to show for it. Yet the same soutane-donning men disparaged the peoples and gods of the rest of the world for beliefs the cardinals deemed barbarian and evil–judging, which was out of sync with the scriptures. He believed the whole Catholic Establishment was an elaborate hoax. For a pure breed African born and raised in the tropics, the weather was extremely unfriendly. He was tired of listening to the names of popes, painters, sculptors and architects whose artistic prowess shaped and reshaped the Vatican over the centuries. Of pretending to marvel, he was tired. Hopefully, if he lived long enough he would construct a colossal landmark in his country, something to show he once lived. Already he had a mesmeric mansion among other innate properties in Pretoria and Johannesburg. He believed in leaving an undeletable mark on the face of the world and forever saluted the architects of the Statue of Liberty, the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, the Kremlin and other monumental constructions. An hour later the premier adjusted his overcoat, turned up the collar and made his way to the Vatican Museum for the purpose of his visit. His gait was unassuming. Not even once did he look over his shoulder. Except glancing at his wristwatch to be certain he would be on time to rendezvous with a man he understood was already on the premises and perhaps monitoring him personally, he [52.91.84.219] Project MUSE (2024-03-28 12:51 GMT) 21 walked calmly through passages and corridors, crossed open areas and descended some steps until he came to the museum. While of necessity narcissistic and impressionistic, the Vatican Museum, like the rest of the buildings, stood in unending mystery to its visitors. The premier stepped on its high-roofed, colonnaded veranda, and walked through its wooden doors, leather-padded portals...