Elizabeth Ohene It's Superzuma! I am in awe of Jacob Gedleyihlekisa Zuma, President of the Republic of South Africa. So here let me offer an imagined page in the daily diary of this man. 6am He stirs from his bed. Well, it does not matter whose bed, but he gets up from bed, any bed. He must sleep some time surely. He does his ablutions, or tries to, between telephone calls from people who think the only way to get to him is to try and catch him early in the morning. Surely he must do other bathroom things too - even the Pope does them. Occasionally, he must get a haircut (luckily he is bald so it cannot take too long), get his nails trimmed (manicure and pedicure probably) and then maybe a massage. After that he might try to put in a few press-ups. He will turn 68 in April and his body may start to give up on him at the most inopportune times and places. Doctors tell him he really must exercise, but then what do these doctors know? A good Zulu man has ways of giving his body a workout - anybody at a rally can see that he can still dance with the best of them. 6.30am The head of security tracks him down and insists that he needs to discuss a sensitive matter - it cannot wait. The briefing ruins his morning. 7.30am He manages breakfast of a kind. The suit he is wearing suddenly irritates him but it is now too late to go back and change. Is that a frown on the face of the woman as he dashes out? He promises to see her in the evening. Now he must go to that meeting which had been arranged months ago; it is with an elderly gentleman from the struggle years and it has been postponed and rearranged many times already. 8.30am The South African Stock Exchange appears to be excited or unhappy about something. Nobody knows exactly what it is but it is deemed important enough for the president to be told about it. 9.30am The chief of staff says there are a number of outstanding issues that must be resolved today. Three ministers want to see the president urgently and he has been unable to persuade them to wait until the cabinet meeting the next day. The American ambassador has been on the telephone and would also like to see the president - urgently. 10.30am The big meeting about housing in the townships. This is dear to the president's heart and he has been promised that the best and brightest brains in South Africa have put together a scheme to finally solve the problem. He takes a call from the British foreign secretary who wants to know if he can exert some pressure on Ugandan President Yoweri Museveni to ensure proposed legislation on homosexuality is ditched. 11.30am Minister in the Presidency Trevor Manuel takes Zuma aside. He is representing the president at a function later in the evening and wants to make sure that they are 'singing from the same hymn sheet' on why the president is absent (a clash on the timetable). 1.30pm An envoy arrives with a special message from the President of the Czech Republic. There are three files that have to be dealt with. And then there is the lunch he has promised a group of children who had overcome unbelievable adversity. In the end, he manages to spend a few minutes with the children - that was a close one. 3.30pm A scheduled meeting with the provincial premiers takes place. This is tough going. 6.00pm The in-tray has piled up, and according to the chief of staff, there are a number of telephone calls that must be made. When he sneaks a look at his private mobile telephone, there are 23 missed calls. Seven of them are from the same number. This spells trouble. 8.15pm Exhaustion sets in. A British newspaper has written yet another article about security concerns during the World Cup to be staged in South Africa. He wonders for the umpteenth time if there is not a racist undertone to such stories. 10.00pm Despite there being only three days until his State of the Nation address, his speech-writer says they will have to do the first rehearsal tomorrow. Seven items marked 'urgent' in his diary must be postponed until the next day. 12am He is dropped at 'home'. Well, there is a bed. He had hoped to go and meet with some old friends this evening as he had made a promise never to lose touch with the grassroots. Oh well. He holds his breath and calls the number that had phoned him seven times. It is the mother of one of his children. It is a full-time job being a father; apart from games or problems with mathematics, children fall down and graze their knees and end up in hospital. If a father cannot be around, mothers tend to want to tell fathers about some of these events. Then there are the grown-up children who have their own set of problems. It is also a full-time job being a husband. The president now has three official wives and one fiance. However, I doubt if our fathers and grandfathers who practised polygamy can relate to the president. But, let us not forget, there are 24 hours in a day. Still, at which point does Zuma find the time to have a child out of wedlock? Contrary to my imagined diary, being a president may not be a full-time job. I am in awe of the man. "At which point does Zuma find the time to have a chili out of wedlock?" Elizabeth Ohene - former deputy editof of BBC Focus on Africa and was until 2008 minister of state in Ghana BBC FOCUS ON AFRICA