I think most editorial cartoonists will readily admit that they often find it difficult to send up politicians when they are making a so much better job of it themselves. This is, however, a problem that does not appear to faze South Africa’s best known caricaturist, Jonathan Shapiro (aka Zapiro), whose razor-sharp wit is on clear display in WTF: Capturing Zuma – A Cartoonist’s Tale, a book which demonstrates both his unerring eye for political failing and his powers of invention.

As its title implies, the anthology provides a front row seat in to the fractious – if at times almost symbiotic – relationship that developed between the artist and his ever dodging target, our erstwhile former Number One. The years of Zuma’s presidency certainly proved to be fertile ground for Zapiro which is perhaps hardly surprising, since, leaving aside the question of his private morality, it is difficult to argue that his effect on the country and its economy was anything other than disastrous.

From the outset Zapiro had the measure of his man. Five years before Zuma took over the ANC leadership he was already portraying him as damaged goods.

He also realised that for such a compromised and controversial figure he needed a far more hard-hitting, confrontational style of drawing than he had employed with, for example, Nelson Mandela. Refusing to recognise the limits imposed by decorum or good taste Zapiro hammered away at him again and again.

His Rape of Justice cartoon, in particular, provoked a storm of outrage and moral indignation especially within the ranks of the ruling ANC. Undeterred, Zapiro continued to rip apart his prey.

In the end his systematic and relentless caricature of Zuma probably did as much to destroy the President’s credibility than any number of columns, editorials or speeches from the opposition benches.

What Zapiro’s constant undermining of the president also proved is that cartoons still matter – a lot. They certainly mattered to Jacob Zuma who, in a misplaced attempt to silence him, served Zapiro with two lawsuits, totalling R22million, claiming the cartoons invaded his dignity.

Which begged the obvious retort – one that the artist himself was quick to seize on and make the subject of yet another witty, put-down, cartoon – what dignity? Needless to say, the matter never got to court.

Zapiro’s drawings have always tended to dominate the pages on which they appear. Wielding his pen like a scalpel, he manages to be both extremely funny and serious at the same time. As with all good satire, his cartoons are designed to entertain as well as to convince. Behind the often mordant humour one senses the fire of honest indignation that fuels all real political art.

Over the years he has carefully recrafted and subtly changed his depiction of Zuma. In doing so, he has, admittedly, been helped by the man himself, whose physiognomy, facial features and nervous tics and mannerisms have often unwittingly and unerringly betrayed his real character (his habit of shoving his glasses up his nose with his finger, his giveaway: “Heh, heh, heh”).

Probably Zapiro’s most inspired moment came when he decided to place a showerhead on Zuma’s oddly-shaped cranium after the then Deputy-President famously stated that he had taken a shower, following sex, because he believed it would reduce his chances of getting HIV (Zapiro admits he got the idea from the brilliant English cartoonist, Steve Bell, who delighted in drawing Prime Minister John Major all the time with his underpants outside his trousers).

The image was picked up and imitated by many. Even Julius Malema adopted it as a visual gesture of constant mockery.

In that sense, his showerhead became the defining symbol of the Zuma era (or “error” as Zapiro so aptly puts it). Like an ever dripping crown of shame, it perfectly captured the rotten-ness and moral bankruptcy of his chaotic, corrupt and scandal-ridden administration.