It is perhaps appropriate that all the miscreants, rogues and crooks should be beating a path to Nkandla, the small KwaZulu-Natal town that has unfortunately become synonymous with corruption.
That corruptly built homestead is their shrine. Jacob Zuma is their high priest. His pilgrims are all over him, smothering him with their affection. He can barely breathe. There's even an attempt to rewrite history to replenish his tattered reputation.
In his quieter moments Zuma may wonder where all this fulsome support was before. Where were all these people? They were around, of course, crowding him even then, only that time furiously hounding him out of power.
The fact that he's out in the wilderness, kicking his heels out in the sticks, is of course primarily thanks to his corruption and dishonesty, but some of his new admirers had a hand in him getting his just deserts. One can imagine dark thoughts racing through Zuma's mind as he watched Julius Malema eagerly attacking that roast leg of lamb. Pretence can at times be an asset in politics. In drinking tea with him, it is to be hoped they read the tea leaves as well.
But we may have misunderstood Malema, or his intentions. In harassing Zuma, it is not that he was against the man or his corrupt practices. He was, it seems, after what the man had, which was power. Zuma is a friend again now that he's out on his ear and looks his pathetic self.
And Malema's sights are trained on the man who now holds the power - President Cyril Ramaphosa. Going to Nkandla - and consummating their rehabilitated friendship with a nice cup of tea - is in part to fulfil that all-important project of bringing down Ramaphosa. His pilgrimage set a trend. They all followed. No-one wanted to be left out.
The stampede to Nkandla tells us something about where the country - or a significant section of it - is at this time in our history. It tells us that corruption, looting, thieving and criminality are nothing to be ashamed of. Sadly, it seems they are the very fuel that propels our politics. People go to Nkandla to receive the blessing of Zuma, the icon of this depravity.
There's nothing else Zuma excelled at. He was an awful president; he's not even an exemplary human being or father. But it is in looting or corruption that he's made his name. He climbed to the top despite being entangled in a web of scandals. He then proceeded to sell the country to a foreign family, and he's so far resisted all attempts to get him to tell the tale.
This week, for instance, the ANC hierarchy, including Ramaphosa, spent seven hours in an abortive attempt to gingerly nudge him to appear before the Zondo commission. No wonder they failed in their mission - the wily old fox was merely teasing them. He knew they were not speaking with one voice, some among his persuaders being his most enthusiastic cheerleaders.
And so Zuma's record of achievement, as it were, what he's known for, is in the area of corruption. He's become the symbol of the scourge. Those making the pilgrimage to Nkandla are like disciples to receive his benediction.
Corruption doesn't seem to be viewed as miscreant or deviant behaviour by some. It's become part of the fabric of society, or their way of life. It's almost an ideology. What unites the likes of Malema, Mzwandile Masina, Tony Yengeni, Andile Mngxitama, Bathabile Dlamini and the youthful Umkhonto weSizwe veterans with fake military uniforms - all pilgrims to Nkandla - is not politics. It is a seeming propensity to or a desire or tolerance for corruption. That's what binds them together; it's like their moment.
The destination may be new and the circle of admirers much wider, but the conduct is as old as the ANC government itself. Some years ago, when Yengeni turned up to serve his jail term for fraud, he was chaperoned into prison by ANC bigwigs, including Ngconde Balfour, then correctional services minister.
Corruption has not only become acceptable and embedded in society; those implicated regard it almost as an achievement. That makes it doubly difficult to exorcise the scourge
Balfour's presence in the retinue sent a powerful message to the warders that their new inmate was untouchable. And, indeed, Yengeni spent most of his time ordering his jailers around, and weekends with family and friends at home.
And when Zuma made his court appearances, especially after his victory in Polokwane, a phalanx of the ANC's top brass turned up to support their leader; many obviously hoping to enhance their chances of being appointed to his administration.
That the man was corrupt didn't seem to nag their conscience. Even after his fall from grace, a gaggle of Zuma's supporters still showed up in court, and he'd occasionally indulge them with an impromptu rendition of his favourite songs.
Ace Magashule is following in the footsteps of his leader. Thousands turned up in Bloemfontein recently for his court appearance. The charges, in fact, seem to have energised him.
This week, for instance, he led a demonstration of Wits students to the Constitutional Court. Why the Constitutional Court, nobody seemed to have an idea. For Magashule it would seem anywhere but Luthuli House will do.
Nor is such support reserved for high-profile politicians. On Friday busloads of ANC members from Limpopo descended on Palm Ridge specialised commercial court in Johannesburg to support local party officials charged with the looting at VBS Mutual Bank.
So those charged with immoral or dishonest behaviour are no longer treated as outcasts or shunned socially; they are embraced and celebrated. Corruption has not only become acceptable and embedded in society; those implicated regard it almost as an achievement. That makes it doubly difficult to exorcise the scourge.
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