For millions of poor, mostly black South Africans, life has barely changed since the African National Congress defeated apartheid under Nelson Mandela in 1994.

Year after year, they wait for the new house, the job, the running water and electricity, the decent education for their children that the ANC has promised. For many, that never comes. Yet most will still vote for ANC and its leader Jacob Zuma in an election next week.

The poorest residents of Munsieville, a township on the edge of Johannesburg, illustrate the contradiction.

Unemployed and tired of living crammed into one-room shacks with no running water or electricity, they are quick to list the ways their government has failed them.

Hundreds share one water tap, which sits next to a stinking mound of rubbish where dirt-smudged children play and stray dogs scavenge for food. They dig pits for toilets.

Many say they have languished for years at the bottom of waiting lists for decent housing. They were left behind while others enjoyed a decade of continuous economic growth that created a burgeoning black middle class.

Yet almost all recoiled in horror at any suggestion they vote against the ANC.

"Half a loaf of bread is better than no bread," said 24-year-old single mother Rahab Modise, wringing out her family's washing in front of her shack. "The ANC is going to help us. They are taking a long time, but I still hope they will come one day."

It’s thanks to people like Modise that the ANC is virtually ensured of winning next week's election despite a challenge from a new breakaway party and a string of corruption scandals.

But why do those who have gained so little display such unwavering loyalty?

Analysts say that until other parties such as the newly formed Congress of the People (COPE), formed by disgruntled ANC politicians, or the Democratic Alliance learn to identify with the poor, the ruling party will face little in the way of real opposition.

"Irrespective of how bad service delivery gets, the poor still think the ANC represents them," said Ebrahim Fakir, a political analyst at the Electoral Institute of South Africa. "The ANC's image fits with what they see when they look in the mirror."

Part of the appeal lies in the ANC’s freedom-fighter credentials.

COPE’s presidential candidate Mvume Dandala put it in simple terms during a recent township walkabout in a township.

“It's like an abused wife -- you get beaten every day but you keep going back to this man. and deep in your mind there's some thing that says, were it not for this man I would probably never have been married.”

Zuma, a polygamist who enlivens rallies by kicking his legs in the air and dancing on stage, has helped cultivate that image.

He sings struggle-era songs to remind voters of the time he spent in jail on Robben Island alongside Mandela and hails from a rural area of the nation’s poorest province.

Rising to president-in waiting despite having no formal education, Zuma’s own life embodies the rags-to-riches fairytale many dream of, and when he pledges new houses, many believe him.

"We like Zuma because he's one of us," said Vuyo Tsotso, 26, who makes about 10 rand ($1) a day selling scrap wiring. "Zuma will give us grants and build houses. The ANC saved our lives because of what they did in 1994," he said.

But there are also hints of change in Munsieville that suggest the ANC's grip on power will not last forever, with a few younger voters expressing a willingness to at least consider other parties.

One had already decided to vote for the DA, headed by a white woman, Helen Zille -- an option he had previously dismissed because of South Africa's troubled racial past.

"Since 1994 the ANC has been making empty promises," said Philemon Rakuba, 23. "They say a better life for all, but they're the only ones living better while we're still stuck here, and still voting for them."

What do you think? Why do the ANC and Zuma command such loyalty from South Africa’s poor? Will the party always be able to count on such unwavering support?

A decision to drop the charges would give the African National Congress a big boost ahead of what is expected to be the most closely-contested poll since apartheid ended in 1994. It would also remove a major distraction for Zuma in office and the prospect of court appearances that could tarnish South Africa’s standing abroad.

In the short term, investors might also welcome such a step that removes a source of uncertainty and eases political risk.

Long-term, however, dropping the charges could damage South Africa's image.

South Africa often boasts about its constitution, but faces rising disquiet about the independence of its judiciary.

A victory for Zuma could add to that sentiment, eroding confidence in the rule of law and stoking fears South Africa is sliding away from the democratic ideals it sought to promote after the end of apartheid. Some foreign investors even worry it could give the impression South Africa is heading in the direction of neighbouring Zimbabwe.

Opposition party COPE said dropping the charges would add weight to perceptions that South Africa is becoming a "banana republic".

Better to drop the charges or let them stand? What do you think?

Christian factions have squabbled for years over who controls which parts of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem's divided Old City.

Sometimes they even come to blows.

Priests and worshippers at an Orthodox Palm Sunday celebration on April 20 ended up brawling after Armenian clerics apparently kicked a Greek Orthodox priest out of a shrine at the church -- one of Christianity's holiest.

Police weren't sure what sparked the fist-fight, but friction between the sects has been simmering for centuries. A Muslim keeps the key, and about 150 years ago, theTurks elaborately carved up territory in the church between the feuding Christian factions.

Police are braced for another punch-up when the eastern churches celebrate Easter on April 27 with the centuries-old "Miracle of the Holy Fire" ceremony.

Orthodox Christians believe the Holy Spirit miraculously lights candles when the Greek patriarch enters the shrine meant to mark Jesus's tomb alone. The Armenians think their leader should be allowed in too.

I recently interviewed the director of a new Israeli documentary film called "Holy Fire", which explores the religious fervour that grips Jerusalem's Old City, revered by Christians, Muslims and Jews.

Yoram Sabo, a secular Jew, said he was initially befuddled by the priestly quarelling at the Holy Sepulchre. But after three years of following the story's twists and turns he came to understand that conflict was almost inevitable in a place endowed with such meaning for so many.

"It may seem trivial," he said. "But you have to look at it through religious glasses -- people fight for what they think is important."

But in a new biblical novel by Israeli author Yochi Brandes, "Kings III", David is portrayed as a blood-thirsty warrior and womaniser who mercilessly slaughters his enemies.

"It's provocative, and it plays with people's expectations," Brandes told Reuters in an interview this week. "The reader gets angry at this dictatorial ruler, then discovers at the end it is actually a character they have been taught to love."

Brandes, who teaches biblical studies in several Israeli colleges, says she is simply teasing out parts of the Bible and Jewish teachings which have been hidden or ignored for centuries, and giving them a controversial new twist.

But she acknowledges the book, which has been published in Hebrew and is slated to be translated into English, is likely to ruffle some feathers among both religious Jews and Christians.

My interview with Brandes this week explores some of the book's ideas in more detail, and a lengthier story in the Israeli newspaper Haaretz delves deeper into the theological implications for a Bible-educated Jewish audience.

What do you think? Should biblical characters be deconstructed in this way to sell novels? Is this an insult to a central character in Jewish and Christian scripture?

The controversy has been bubbling for several years. It started when the public bus companies introduced the "mehadrin" (strict kosher) lines to compete with private companies who introduced separate seating in buses that passed through ultra-Orthodox areas. My feature today interviews angry women passengers and defenders of the system.

Reporting in Israel occasionally throws journalists into the middle of the tension between deeply religious and secularist Israelis. I live in a broadly secular neighbourhood of Jerusalem and drive a car, so have never taken the “kosher” buses. The first time I went to Mea Shearim, an ultra-Orthodox area of Jerusalem, I took care to wear loose clothing with long sleeves that seemed sure to pass the modesty test. But I hadn’t realised trousers were a no-no too. The placards nailed up around the area listing exactly what clothing was out of bounds soon made that clear.

So I'll ask a woman for a quote, I thought. When I did, though, she shook her head and pointed to her husband. He grabbed his young son’s hand, shielded his eyes and swept past me with his long black coat.

Feeling more self-conscious by the minute, I tried talking to a few more men and women with a male colleague at my side. No one would answer my questions. Our Israeli cameraman Eli laughed and suggested he do the interviews on my behalf.

“Next time,” he added, “wear a skirt.”