Where has the World Cup magic gone to?

JUNE 11 to July 12 this year remains fresh with the magic that most wish could last forever.

Going to matches was the joy of park and rides. No stampedes were experienced. Every care was taken to ensure no time was lost to pre-empt impatience.

Matches were won and lost without losers resorting to mayhem to distract attention from failure. All was in the spirit of the beautiful game.

All worked according to plan. Now everyone with interest in good things is asking: where has the magic of 31 days gone to?

Roads functioned with faultless ease. Drivers were polite, patient and courteous for the safety of us all. No yawning potholes and weeping streets, from burst sewerage pipes, for the world to see.

Taxi drivers' demeanour suited the public duty being rendered. Stories of children crying, neglected, abandoned, lost without trace or disposed of like waste in rubbish dumps did not scream into headlines.

Thugs and organised criminals found the South African Police Service visibly in combat readiness. Courts were spurred to highest gear to deal with anything that would be an eyesore to the world. We sang, danced, whistled, shouted and visiting nations even pretended finding curious melody in that tuneless vuvuzela that my educated ear still find unrepentently irritating.

Besides personal setbacks to an unpretentious ear, attuned to the sound of good music and melody that no vuvuzela will ever deliver in the listening lifetime of planet earth, the good times of the 2010 Fifa World Cup undeniably stands out as a picture of all things being bright and beautiful.

For a moment the unforgettable pictures of smiling children gracing the soccer fields as flag bearers at every game found their way on to the front pages to make headlines.

No sooner had the visiting nations bid us farewell than the picture of our success gradually began to fade away before the haunting reality of ordinary people's day-to-day miseries.

Life ceased to be the song and dance that roared with every goal missed and scored.

The vuvuzela, once used to cheer teams and stars, has now become the instrument to raise the volume of demands by striking workers as well as direct outrage at inept and corrupt authority figures.

The questions that were half asleep are now finding wakeful expression on the lips of many. Were the good times we had in six weeks only meant for the world? Who is the world anyway? Is it everybody else that comes in and out of our borders except this nation?

Life might give us games to play, to reward hard work with deserved relief, but it is not a game. Life is not an event. Success is not magic either.

Vision, meticulous planning, knowing the reason of our failure, deliberate action until a better life for all becomes an everyday reality, and not a tourist curiosity, is the way to go.

For politicians, the point made is clear. The corridors of power that you occupy are an expression of honour from millions of hearts and souls that granted you the power to deliver them from the hell of their daily miseries.

Failure by politicians to reciprocate this great honour reduces government to something that knows nothing more than staging events but fails where it matters most - making life livable, bearable and worthwhile.

Therein lies the magic being yearned for. True visionaries never worship achieved successes but forever stand at the cutting edge to break new ground to make life better.