I can imagine the comrades carrying her on their shoulders and singing: "Phakaaaama Nomvula, ixesha lisondele. Uniiiity maqabane, ixesha lisondele!" Singing and dancing and marching. Towards the stage they march in step, throwing their grinning cargo up in the air. And, with ease, they catch her, defying the force of gravity. In fact, in their seemingly effortless dance routine, the comrades defy the law of physics that dictates that what goes up must come down. "Phakaaaama Nomvula, ixesha lisondele!"

The rand has fallen. It needs someone to pick it up. In comes Nomvula Mokonyane to save the nation from the ruthless vagaries of inflation...

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