Wangui Mwangi

6 Things We Learned About African Leaders from the Putin Ice Cream Affair It happened in Moscow, at the Third Russia–Africa Summit. Our presidents had just been given a tour of Russian gadgets. Then in what was meant as a lighthearted moment, they were led to an ice cream stand, where they lined up with their hands out, like Standard Four pupils on sports day. Social media had a field day. Won’t join the outrage, but will do the responsible thing and ask what was in the cup. It was plombir, the pride of the Soviet kitchen: cream, milk, egg yolks and sugar, with enough butterfat to grease a bill through Parliament. With the science settled, here’s what we learned. 1. “Strongmen” means strong stomachs: For decades we were told African leaders are strongmen. We thought that meant a strong grip on power and strong immunity to term limits. It turns out it means the stomach. They swallowed full-fat plombir in the Moscow cold, and nobody had to leave the plenary early. Whatever their problems with the constitution, none of the presidents in Moscow had a problem with lactose. 2. They finally met a queue: Back home, queues are for citizens. You queue to vote at 5am, only to be told the kit has “malfunctioned.” You queue for unga, fuel, ID cards and a hospital bed. Presidents only see queues through the tinted glass of a motorcade, usually while the queue is being pushed aside for the motorcade. In Moscow they finally stood in one. Unlike our voter queues, this one had a guaranteed result: everyone who lined up got what they came for, and nobody found their name missing from the register. 3. They survived a food line full of strangers: Many of these leaders run cabinets that look like a family WhatsApp group: the son in Defence, the in-law at the Central Bank, the nephew handling tenders. For them, this was a brave outing. The person in front wasn’t a cousin. The person behind wasn’t from the home village. Amazingly, they all survived. Diversity was tried once, in Moscow, and it killed no one. 4. Somebody had to be fifth: At home, the first slice of the national cake is theirs by divine right: the juicy contracts, the prime land, the best piece of nyama choma before the guests even sit down. In Moscow, someone had to be fifth in line. Someone may have got the cup that had started to melt. Nobody declared a state of emergency. 5. They probably missed the lesson: The whole lesson was right in front of them. There was enough for everyone, each person got one, the line moved and nobody went home empty-handed. That is a public policy manual in a paper cup. Did they absorb it? Unlikely. Expect them to land at home and go straight back to the old formula: one for me, and the rest also for me. 6. But it felt like home: Beneath the cold, there was something warm and familiar about it all: free food, no bill and a host eager to please. It was just like home, where the banquets, per diems and hotel bills are paid by taxpayers who were never invited. But nothing in Moscow is free. The ice cream comes with a cone, and the cone comes with a contract: the grain deals, the mining concessions, and the Africa Corps men who guard shaky regimes for a fee reportedly paid in gold and mineral rights. The plombir melts in minutes. The invoice doesn’t. Next summit, perhaps they’ll carry their own cooler box. Better still, they could stay home and fix the queues there. peopledaily.digital/news/put…