Yes Minister Cele

 Dear Mr Cele

I was in bed by 8.30 pm, half an hour before your appointed time. Just showing my regard and respect. Besides, there's a mother of thunderstorms over our part of Durban. I love nothing more than to listen to the rumbling and crashing of thunder. Reminds me so much of the Party. Also the other party that is in perpetual marching motion. Also,  of course of the words of dear old Macbeth:

'It is a tale told by an idiot,

full of sound and fury,

signifying nothing'

I just mention the last. No underlying meaning. Making conversation. I know you love chatting. Saw you having a fatherly chat with the fellow who neglected to wear a mask. You also wisely warned him not to linger (ungalingi). Sir, you are good at this stuff. Lecturing people, grandst.., sorry, standing at roadblocks, stopping dangerous filming on beaches.. Is there not some ministry that could use your talent to the full? Anyone can manage the business of bringing dangerous but boring criminals to justice. But this thing you do, sir, now that's something special. A sort of Bruce Lee or Jedi of the tongue-lashing on camera. Play to your strengths, the HR gurus tell us. Flow. My wish for you for 2021 is that you find that niche. Let some less talented, one track minded fellow do the law and order thing.

Incidentally, while on my way to the loo, I absentmindedly looked through the telescope in the attic. My neighbour was in his garage well after 9pm. Probably receiving a consignment of liquor. Please look into that. The address is below. 

Yours in the fierce struggle against crime and disobedience.

 Richard

Just Not Cricket?

 Dear Fellow South Africans 

Please help. 

Watching SABC TV is almost as absorbing as watching dung beetles on a slow day. I turned to the cricket test for some relief.

I know little about the game. After this morning's session, I feel as if I know even less. A presenter described the game as strenuous, demanding. 'Ha', I thought.  I saw batsmen relaxing at the wicket, strolling around and chatting. Then I learned that the game lasts five days. I've seen football matches run an extra half hour. Tennis matches that last a few hours. But five days! Is this not cruel and unusual punishment? Do the players do it willingly? Or are they pressured into it?

My suspicions were heightened when a commentator said that the South African target is lunch. Logic tells us that the target should be one run more than the Sri Lankan score. Good heavens, these chaps are starving. It's no wonder we struggle in the big competitions.

Another alarming comment was that Mickey Arthur, the Sri Lankan coach,  is worried by injuries. If the coach is getting injured, then there's more to this game than meets the eye. None of it good.

'He (a bowler) needs to ask questions of the South African batsmen', was another perplexing comment. So why doesn't he do it during those chat breaks? What questions? 'Would you rather I hit you on the head or on the ribs?' might be a logical one. I hope it's not general knowledge stuff like: 'Which comes first; South Africa or the ANC?' The game's slow enough as it is.

When the talk turned to leg spinning (surely physically impossible), chirping (is this a Sri Lankan thing?) and other stuff that hadn't the remotest connection to any sport I know, I turned off the sound.

Is this normal in cricket matches? Please let me know.

Yours in the struggle for understanding.

Richard 

 

Only When I Laugh

 

Dear Fellow South Africans 

Heard the one about the ANC politician who meets an admiral in Swaziland?

"But you have no sea", he says.

"We do have some rivers and lakes", the admiral replies. "But you have an integrity commission!".

And Tony Yengeni chairs a working group on crime and corruption. Good choice. Experience is important. 

Dear fellow South Africans, please give the ANC some credit. They have been trying so hard for so long to get us laughing. But we are a tough crowd to please. Always moaning about service delivery, corruption, incompetence and other relatively unimportant stuff. 

Our best comedians couldn't have dreamed up these absolute corkers:

Those who vote for the ANC will be blessed on earth and heaven - Jacob Zuma 

The people love me - Supra Mahumapelo

So this over-concentration of coloureds in the Western Cape is not working for them. They should spread in the rest of the country.... - Jimmy Manyi

Many politicians publicly deny they did certain things but then later admit to them. It is accepted and is not unusual anywhere in the world. .....I personally don't find it a very bad thing - Ndaweni Mahlangu

 

So what? - Baleka Mbete reacting to reference to UN report on SA having world's fifth highest murder rate (Al Jazeera interview)

I am not corrupt. I am not corrupt. Go to the Free State and see what we have done there - Ace Magashule

I stand here to say thank you to Msholozi for everything that he has done for this beloved country of ours - Carl Niehaus

Is fraud a bad thing in society? - Judge Zondo.

I respect you, Chair, but I will not answer. I will not incriminate myself- Dudu Myeni 

Laughter is the best medicine. I think the ANC has been trying to bolster our slightly less than excellent health services system. The problem is that you take them seriously.

Yours in the struggle for excellence in stand-up comedy.

Richard

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Heat

 Dear Mr Cele

I may be the only person in South Africa who recognizes your genius. I see your strategy and your vision as clearly as a sunrise over Durban's Treasure Beach. (Which, I should think, you will be visiting sometime soon).

You have taken the NYPD's broken window approach to levels unimagined. You too are dealing with 'minor' crimes to discourage major crime. You are fixing the broken windows of wanton boozing, brazen beach shenanigans and so forth. Making the newly cleansed environment unattractive to criminals. I bet that anyone contemplating a heist at Camps Bay now knows to stay well away.

The movie people on the beach were an inspired choice of righteous target. Look at what goes on in the movies. Wild, abandoned boozing, smoking, violence and sex. And other things. And they have the nerve to flaunt their cameras and semi-clothed bodies on our beaches (I mean the cameramen, directors and wardrobe people). I watch movies with great reluctance, only to keep track of the depths of decadence they are willing to plumb.

Sir, I think it's an opportune time for us to meet for a fruit juice. This is not a sudden impulse. During the level 5 lockdown, I was not idle. Over a bottle of Scottish Leader that someone left on my doorstep, I analysed, weighed, measured your remarkable strategy.  I am all in. It's been alleged that, on Mr Zuma's watch, people with no qualifications or experience held high rank in the police. I, at least, have been reading crime novels since primary school. I am realistic  enough to start at the bottom  - colonel, major, that sort of thing. Nothing like having team members who are fully on board with your vision and strategy.

Yours in the struggle for crime-free beaches and cities.

Richard

2020

If George Orwell had written 2020 in South Africa:

The party's ever-present slogans fluttered proudly from deserted dairy farms, vandalized railway stations and scorched public buildings:

INCOMPETENCE IS HEROISM

DECAY IS PROGRESS

BULLSHIT IS TRUTH

Under one of the gaily fluttering banners, an endless queue snaked from the doors of the Ministry Of Employment And Plenty. The citizens were in discussion. 

"Comrade, so what if he took bags of cash? He's one of us. A prodigal son. We need the leadership."

"One of us? I don't see a Bentley here?"

"Ah, Comrade. You don't understand. The Party drives Bentleys for us. Drinks champagne with our lips".

A convoy of black-hatted police drove by, staring as intently at the crowd, as they munched at KFC.

"Look at them. On their way to the beaches. Where are they when we are being robbed and murdered?"

"Be careful in your thinking, Comrade. The revolution is a long march. The enemies of the revolution are sunning themselves on the beaches. The Goldsteins."

"The what?"

"They go by many names: capitalists, boere, Rupertists, Gordhanists, Clever Blacks, bloody agents, opposition parties... But the glorious revolution will prevail."

"This is the glorious revolution? Queues, decaying buildings, filthy streets?"

"Your thoughts are verging on counterrevolution, Comrade. But you are young. On this long march, we must be patient. You see, in the struggle, there is a different kind of truth being birthed".

"Huh?"

"Follow the Party faithfully, my young comrade. You will understand the truths:

INCOMPETENCE IS HEROISM 

DECAY IS PROGRESS"

"And bullshit is truth?"

"You have it, Comrade. You have it".

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That's What Friends Are For, Mr Zuma

Dear Mr Zuma 

 You really shouldn't have walked out of the Zondo Commission sitting the way you did. Who knows what damage it's done to your friendship with the judge. 

 It's not easy to make friends with judges. At my last court appearance, all my friendly overtures were ignored. Talk about a one-track mind. The man was only interested in the boring details of the case. Friendly enquiries about the family, fishing, his views on the effects of tea on drivers' reflexes; these were churlishly brushed aside. That's why sir, I believe you should cleave to the good judge as Jonathan clove to David. Particularly during this season of goodwill and other stuff. 

 I am sure that there were many pleasant memories that you could have inserted into the conversation. I don't know if the friendship went as far back as playing judges and persons of interest. It was an opportunity to, as Yeats put it: 'Mix pictures of the mind Recall that table and the talk of youth..' Sir, you could have given room to your musical talent and kicked off with a variation on 'That's What Friends Are For' 

 And I never thought we'd meet this way 

And as far as I'm concerned I'm glad I got the chance to say 

That I do believe we're buddies 

And if I should ever go astray 

Well then, close your eyes and try To see the way we were before

 And then if you can remember Keep smilin', keep judging 

Knowin' you can always count on me for more

 That's what friends are for

 Come courtrooms, commissions

 I'll be on your side forevermore That's what friends are for

 Brilliant way to kick off a session, sir. Beats the hell out of the usual, stiff formality - which doesn't encourage frank, forthright, friendly exchanges anyway.

 Yours in the struggle to preserve friendships. 

 Richard

Shots Fired, Mr Cele?

Dear Fellow South Africans 

 This morning I was again jolted out of my post-Reconciliation Day torpor. An SABC newsreader reported on Mr Cele's response to a shooting at a beach in Cape Town. My first thought: Good old Mr Cele; first on the scene, like Spider-Man (which I watched yesterday). Actually, it was a shoot, not a shooting.

 I should have realised by now that the SABC takes the Alice in Wonderland approach to words and their meaning. When I use a word," Humpty Dumpty said, in rather a scornful tone, "it means just what I choose it to mean—neither more nor less No surprises there. It fits in with the Alice in Wonderland theme, faithfully adhered to by the ANC, assorted politicians and other South African movers and shakers.

 So what if it was cameras instead of guns? That's how these things start. I'm sure Jeffrey Dahmer started out playing with plastic knives. Had Mr Cele been there, what carnage could have been prevented. The next thing you know, it'll be Uzis and AKs on the beaches. Thank goodness for Mr Cele.

 I hope the criminals are taking note of the speedy, proactive policing championed by Mr Cele. He'll probably pop up at hijackings, robberies and other incidents in similar style. It's just a matter of priorities. 

One has to watch the movie and advertising people. Such stories one hears about their excesses. Let the other criminals not be lulled into complacency. Your turn will surely come. 

 Yours in the struggle for safe beaches.

 Richard

Reconcile That

Dear Fellow South Africans

 On this Reconciliation Day, I awoke to bewildering announcements. Mr Fearbuggerall, Twitter Jedi and multi-skilled minister spoke on road safety. 

'We want to get into the bodies and souls of those behind the wheel', he said. 

Of course, I didn't take him literally. Then he asked us to hoot for life tomorrow, 17 SEPTEMBER. It all came together in a blood-curdling, suspense movie type moment. The ANC has mastered not only time travel but also some sort of astral projection / body invasion technique.

 I knew that they were up to some Orwellian stuff but this is utterly terrifying. The good news could be that our problems of corruption, poor service delivery and related stuff may soon be things of the past. Which could be the present. Or.., anyway, you do get the general idea, right? 

 The second shock of the morning. Anchor asks SABC reporter what Durban beach looks like.

 'The ocean is empty', he responds mournfully (I might have imagined the mournful part). 

Good Lord! One of two dreadful possibilities: 

1. The water's all gone 

2. There's water but no fish - or any other form of life.

 Has the Stellenbosch Mafia or some bloody agent found and pulled the plug? Provincial envy? I mean, they only have the DA and we have the awesome ANC.

 I gained some comfort from Mr Mbalula's assurance that the safest place to be now is at the airport or on a plane. I'm on my way to King Shaka (the airport- haven't quite got the time travel thing yet). Perhaps SAA has a spare, roomy Boeing lying around. If not, my camping gear is packed.

Peace, goodwill and other nice stuff. 

Richard

Counting Blessings

Dear Fellow South Africans 

 This baffles me. South Africans of all ages queue all day at government offices. They burn, thirst, hunger, shuffle from room to room, chair to chair. At the finish line of this dreary marathon, is a two minute signature. 

 SARS have an online system. Primary health care services use centralized dispensing, clubs and other initiatives. These ease the burden on patients and clinics. Both can use their precious time more effectively. There are apps for everything short of DIY brain surgery. Other government departments cling faithfully to tradition. 

We are treated to scenes reminiscent of George Orwell's 1984. These are the blessings of decency, dignity and compassion conferred by democracy? Perhaps some comrades get a warm, nostalgic whiff of the glorious past. Bread queues in Soviet utopias? 

 Of course, i am always comforted and reassured by the sight of new street names. So much effort, expense and thought. The party is hard at work. Warm affection for Big Brother. Who is watching over us. Man does not live by R1000 food parcels alone. All our troubles emanate from our version of Orwell's Goldstein. A guy called Apartheid (A devilishly cunning ogre, long banished, but still hard at work with infernal schemes to enslave the people). And counter -revolutionaries. And WMC, a close consort of Apartheid. And the Stellenbosch Mafia. 

There, I feel better. Almost got into some serious thoughtcrime. 

 Yours in the headlong dash to the brave, new world. 

 Richard

Where Have All The Taxes Gone?

To the tune of 'Where Have All The Flowers Gone?

'Where have all the taxes gone? Long time passing? 

Where have all the taxes gone? Long time ago? 

Where have all the taxes gone? 

To the struggle they have gone When will we ever learn? 

 When will we ever learn? 

 Where have all the heroes gone? Long time passing? 

Where have all the heroes gone? Long time ago? 

Where have all the heroes gone? Gone to cadres everyone  When will we ever learn? 

 When will we ever learn?

 Where have all the cadres gone? Long time passing? 

Where have all the cadres gone? Long time ago? 

Where have all the cadres gone? Gone to tenders everyone

 When will we ever learn?

 When will we ever learn? 

 Where have all the tenders gone? Long time passing?

 Where have all the tenders gone? Long time ago? 

Where have all the tenders gone? Gone to bling bling everyone 

 When will we ever learn? 

 When will we ever learn? 

 Where has all the bling bling gone? Long time passing? 

Where has all the bling bling gone? Long time ago? 

Where has all the bling bling gone? Hawks are asking everyone 

 When will we ever learn? 

 When will we ever learn? 

 Where have all the Guptas gone...

Taxing You

To the tune of Every Breath You Take: 

 Every cent you make, a percent we'll take 

 Everything you try, we'll be standing by

 We'll be taxing you 

 Everything you eat, every bit of meat 

 Every sip of beer and all your gear We'll be taxing you 

 Oh can't you see  

You belong to me 

 Cradle to the grave 

 You're a willing slave 

 Every claim you make, each expense you fake 

 Every chance you take, make no mistake 

 We'll be watching you 

 Since your first pay, 

 You have made our day 

 And a slice we'll take

 Till your cake we break

 Every cent you earn, every way you turn

 You've just got to learn, long as skies are blue

 That's what we do 

 We'll be taxing you 

 And we'll be your friend, to the very end 

 We've got debts to pay, tenders gone astray 

 We'll be taxing you

Dear Santa

Dear Santa

There are those who argue that you do not exist. The same was said of state capture and the gangster state. I am, therefore, hedging my bets. Keeping options open.

I understand that good behaviour is a prerequisite for service delivery. That's not how it works in our country. I think it all depends on where you live, which party runs the municipality and what summits of corruption and incompetence they have already scaled unscathed.

Nevertheless, to comply with your requirements, here's my report card. I believe that my behaviour has been exemplary by standards modelled on those of the politicians I emulate. I have been good throughout lockdown, maintaining social distancing from SARS, SAPS and other potentially risky contacts. I have receipts for all cigarettes purchased on the black market. No illegal liquor traversed my gullet. Just legally home - brewed stuff, incorporating pineapples, raisins and other healthy ingredients. All low-alcohol content. I think the blinding headaches were from stress occasioned by news reports.

If you can swing it, I'd like a small tender or a cadre-type appointment for Christmas. Preferably both. In any order. For the kids, some ANC and EFF action figures would be really nice. You know the type you squeeze and an interesting substance dribbles out, each time they squeak? I really like the kids' toys to be realistic. 

I do know that ANC action figures are rare but please try. 

 Yours in the quest for Christmas cheer.

 Richard

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Degrees Of Separation

Dear Mr Steenhuisen

 Now that you occupy a bottom - scorching seat at our national political table, it's important that we settle this matter. 

 You were once made fun of over post - matric qualifications. I too, suffered similar indignities. Worse, it was rumoured that the signatures on my matric certificate closely resembled my own elegant flourish. I am therefore in your corner, sir. I offer this advice. 

I ignored the juvenile stuff on social media. Girded up my loins, stiffened my upper lip and relevant sinews and paid the price. R500 for a first degree, purchased at the Germiston taxi rank. A further R1000 for a masters - on production of a first certificate, of course. Academic standards must be maintained. 

 Of course, success is sweetest purchased with blood, sweat, tears and other glandular secretions. I recommend our cutting edge solution (we cut the edges off long-winded texts). We have modelled our college on the highly successful version that produced scholars, poets, generals and other people of substance in happier times of old. One needed to answer only two questions in order to graduate. The examination was often conducted from horseback (I don't have a horse but can borrow a neighbour's bakkie). 

We have contracted the three year degree to six months. Why waste years in musty classrooms? The prime contribution of many 'educated' people on our continent has been to support demagogues, buffoons and thugs in speeding us down the excrement- coated slide to ruin. 

 Tuition fees? We accept EFTs but prefer brown envelopes and filled black garbage bags, in line with custom and practice. You will enjoy our Politics 101 course. Some of the modules: 

 Cultural Significance Of Braais And Food Parcels In Election Campaigns

 Power Of Populist Prattle 

Marching For Power And Profit

 The Concepts Of Elasticity, Fluidity And Malleability As Applied To Language And Conduct In South African Politics 

 State Capture Simplified 

 Some may question our approach to tertiary education. Let me point out that Newton made a significant discovery while happily munching on an apple and being clobbered by another. Archimedes did likewise in the midst of a relaxing bath. Our own former president spoke of the power of the shower. The pillars of a sound education are good nutrition and good hygiene. Let's not muddle and mystify simple basics. 

 We look forward to hearing from you. 

 Yours in the struggle for relevant education.

 Richard

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Radical Pillaging

Dear Crooked Politicians And Public Servants 

As Secretary General of TABA (Theft And Burglary Association), I write to you now more in sorrow than in anger. You ignored our heartfelt plea for moderation. To quote Kenneth Kaunda, we came in the spirit of give and take and now we come in the spirit of take (something to that effect). Those words will surely resonate with you. 

You have besmirched and brought into disrepute our noble profession. Our reputation and brand are in tatters. Putting the slightest spin on the words of the Danish prince: 'They clepe us hogs and with swinish phrase soil our addition'.

Not only do you rob rich, poor and utterly destitute indiscriminately but you indulge in the vilest of anti-competitive behaviour. We do not pretend to be anything but what we are: proud carriers of the traditions of Robin Of Locksley, Ned Kelly and other patron saints. You, hyenas in sheep's clothing, hide behind positions, titles and unsavoury alliances. You are also guilty of the worst form of insider trading, which we frown upon. Come out of the closet, we say. 

Even the mafia, whom we despise, have a code of honour. "Never was so much stolen from so many by so few", to quote some English chap. We have declared you a kind of South African ronin, bandits without boundaries (with apologies to the ronin, who had principles).

Let it be known that we have struck you off the roll of professional thieves and burglars. Further, expect correspondence from our legal counsel. A class action lawsuit wiil follow should you not cease and desist. And also stop your nonsense.

 Yours in disgust. 

 Peter Pompies

 Secretary General TABA

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Game Of Clowns

It was the worst of times, as was once written. Confusion and fear followed plague, battering the land like a fearsome winter storm. 

The Wildings, in disarray after the onslaught of the armies of King Ram Pozaar, were defiant still. Lord MacGushla, charged with treason, had chosen trial by combat and was still breathing fire and slaughter while protesting his innocence. Lord Nayous, his faithful companion, rode forth daily, clad in full armour, in a fearsome show of strength. Alongside marched his fiercely loyal troops. The land trembled for he was a fine, warlike figure of a man. No longer young in years, the warrior's heart beat yet within his breast. Upon the graves of his ancestors he swore that justice would prevail. 

In the marketplaces the word went forth that this alliance went after a new religion. A strange god named Welthanpower. Lord Zumair, in a fit of anger, left the courts of the king for his castle in the eastern hills. It was whispered abroad that the Night Watch were to lay siege to his castle. The nation held its breath.

 The legend of the White Walkers was again on many lips. But from the central plains poured forth a new army, the Red Walkers and they spread across the land like the flood. According to legend, Lord Malma, Commander In Chief, saw in a vision upon a mountain the future laid bare and spoke thus to his armies: "I have been to the mountain top and I have seen the promised land. And it is ours". Defeated at Castle Brackenfell, they cared nothing but uttered curses and threats against the Night Watch. As for Lord Chella, commander of the Night Watch, he held his peace and bade his men stand fast. 

And as allegiances crumbled and reformed and the very air turned cold with threats, oaths and curses, the people knew not which way to turn. 

Thus, in the southern lands, is played the Game Of Clowns.

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Close Encounters SA

Dear Fellow South Africans

 I am often plagued by ominous dreams peopled by Ground Forces, ANC luminaries, municipal councillors and other scary figures.

 Last night's was the mother of nightmares. I had had a nutritious fishcake supper and spent the day on some light reading by assorted ANC and EFF thinkers. I cannot attribute the dream to any disturbances to psyche or digestive system. 

 I was aboard an alien spacecraft in the sleek, aerodynamic shape of a Joburg street legwinya. A massive screen displayed images and video of South Africa. The aliens, pleasant enough in demeanour and appearance, were dressed in Star Trek type attire. A Ms Hofmeyr lookalike pressed a coke into my hand. "Have no fear, Earthling", she said. "We are on a fact finding mission and merely seek your help in confirming a few things". 

 I relaxed to the extent that one can relax on an alien spacecraft. Footage of potholes, speeding taxis and mounds of rubbish in downtown Joburg appeared. "This is your world class city?" I shifted uncomfortably and thought that I heard a suppressed snigger but aliens don't snigger ( I think). 

Crystal clear footage followed. Taxi operators were punching, kicking and slashing opponents. "Your cutting edge business model," she commented, with what might have been a smirk, except that aliens don't smirk either. 

 Footage of Brackenfell, Senekal and various EFF gatherings followed. "Some of these people are your legislators?" The aliens were leaning forward with inscrutable expressions and a strange gleam in their eyes. Footage of a punchup in parliament followed. "Ah, and here they are legislating", said the Ms Hofmeyr lookalike. This time, the chortling was unmistakable. 

 I covered my embarrassment as best I could while the footage switched to Mr Zuma dancing outside a courtroom, enjoying a hearty laugh in the house and striding from the commission venue. "You elected this man to lead. Hmm. A talented dancer. We can see why you elected him twice". The aliens nearest me had the good grace to try to look solemn but the rest had discarded any pretence. A Judge Zondo lookalike had tears streaming down his face as he rocked with laughter. 

 Oh, the horror. 

I was shown footage of parliamentary debates, failed projects, crumbling infrastructure and more. Several politicians were depicted, speaking against corruption and trundling out promises. All restraint forgotten, the aliens hooted and roared with laughter until I could stand it no more. Our various ethics and integrity bodies sent them into frightening paroxsyisms of mirth. 

Mercifully, we eventually hovered over a deserted Free State dairy farm. An alien resembling some actor I couldn't place, said "We'll be back" and I was deposited on good South African soil. 

 I earnestly plead for assistance from an expert dream interpreter and a good psychologist. Pro bono, of course. 

 Yours in the struggle against apocalyptic nightmares.

 Richard

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Banana Peel Republic

Dear ANC And Fellow South Africans

 I thought that the era of the clowns was over. That the curtain had come down on the long, irksome, painful comedy. Ending with the gentleman who recently took his long walk to further infamy. 

 There are the silly clowns who make children laugh. There are the sinister clowns of horror movies. Only those who have slept through the movie don't know which category you belong to. And that goes for the scarlet clad clowns who prance and posture while the country burns. As if opportunities for grandstanding actually equate to achievement. 

 Of course it was not even the beginning of the end. Merely the beginning of another downward spiral. It is exhausting to catalogue the comedy of horrors. 

We have appointed people to serve in important positions whose qualifications, inclinations and abilities suited them only for the lowest kind of comedy. We should not be surprised that most things that government touch turn in an instant to human waste. That's what happens when all frolic and none leads. The waste seeps into every orifice of government. It all emanates from leadership.

 Observe the queues at any government department and see how much your government holds you in contempt, people of South Africa. Some attention to process, some leadership - all-day queues dont have to be a fact of life. Especially not for mothers with babies and the elderly. Nothing in this resembles the democracy we fought for. I would guess that the Bosasa queues were a lot easier than the SASSA queues. 

 We are a banana peel republic. Cabinet ministers and every level of leadership down to the supervisor of that government department you queue at, gives you the finger. Serving is the last thing on their minds. 

If it were otherwise, you would be treated as if your life mattered. 

 This has to be the most high - priced, dreadful circus imaginable.

 Richard

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Cape Of Good Hope

There's much to enjoy in Cape Town. 

A friendly city in many respects. Signposting, service, history and beauty preserved in buildings and gardens, friendly people and more. It pains me to say it but dear Durban, with all its vibrant sights, sounds, scents and great rugby team, comes second (close second). Surely a world class African city - but that title's taken. 

Then, there's no escaping or forgetting our elected national government. The simple act of signing for UIF, a five minute exercise, becomes a nightmare / comedy of the absurd. For three days running, the building has no power. The feeling of powerlessness is heightened by a profound absence of communication of any kind. Is this what it felt like in the socialist people's paradises? 'Waiting For Godot' starts to make sense.

 A second act follows. At the railway station, I am sold a ticket for a train that never turns up. I remember a time when trains made getting around in Cape Town a joy. Yes, I know. There are far bigger, deeper problems. This was just a government hors d'oeuvre. Precisely what makes our predicament so desperate. 

Which came first: the ANC or the omelette of incompetence, leaderlessness and corruption? 

 I thought Western Cape independence was a whimsical notion. It starts to make sense.

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Judge Not

Dear Mr Zuma

 I don't know if it's my fevered imagination but Judge Zondo does seem to have a rather sinister smile. As a general rule, I trust judges even less than Mr Malema trusts black lawyers. The Good Book says 'judge not' and they are in perpetual, flagrant disobedience of that command. The whole thing with black robes I also find unnecessarily intimidating and menacing.

You are understandably reluctant to appear before a judge you perceive to be intent on finding you guilty. In an attempt to be helpful I have done several internet searches for judges keen to find people innocent. Please hang in there. Still searching.

 My own black book had only one entry under J: Julius. I doubt that he will be of much help now.

 Some advice in the interim. The spies and saboteurs theme went quite well, in my view, in your first appearance. Why not expand on it? It certainly beats Ms Kwinana's fatcake analogy as an attention-getter. It also makes for good television drama and the last few commission episodes have been rather like the Karoo - dry and flat. You have already named several witnesses who were "fetched". A good, solid start, sir. Not all that dissimilar to the Trump offense / defence.

 I have several other red herr..., pardon, issues that can be thrown into the pot. We have not even touched on the Stellenbosch Mafia. And I trust that you still have in your possession the beans you once threatened to spill. But, to quote Maximus Gallus, the renowned Roman legislator, one step at a time. These things we can discuss, perhaps over a spicy bean stew.

 Yours in the struggle for justice, fairness, equity and a few other things. 

 Richard

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The Last Trump

Dear Mr Trump 

 Here we are in the same boat again - becalmed.You, me, Mr Zuma and some comrades - unemployed and ignored. Ah no, Mr Zuma, at least, is in great demand in some quarters. I suspect he'd rather be ignored. Call it a hunch. 

 Some call you a sore loser, but, like me and the EFF comrades, you are a 'fight to the end' kind of guy. (Just saw a guy on the corner, holding up a sign proclaiming that 'The End Is Nigh'. Go figure). I understand that some of the EFF comrades may be a little sore. The Battle Of Brackenfell apparently went slightly differently from the Siege Of Senekal and other glorious adventures. I suppose 'he who lives by the klap...'. 

 At any rate, sir, I've been scanning the vacancies. I haven't seen anything for you yet in the Bragging, Bullying and Blustering section. We live in hope. 

The EFF may be able to use your wisdom and experience. The culture fit is uncanny.

 Yours in the never-ending struggle.

 Richard

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Queen's Gambit

Dear Ms Myeni 

 I had high hopes for your commission performance. You started out so well. 'If I were white I would not have been presumed guilty'. That's quite a classic opening move. A bit like the Queens Gambit in chess. In these times it's extremely handy to move the white pieces with boldness and speed. We know that whites are responsible for everything that has happened, is happening and will happen in our world. The current problems with the US election can easily be traced back to white mischief. It follows that the same must apply to problems in Ivory Coast and other trouble spots. 

 Disappointingly, after that electrifying opening move, you then reverted to the most boring tactic in the book. It was like watching Bobby Fischer suddenly call 'draw' Madam I did not pay a TV licence to hear endless repetitions of the 'might incriminate myself' defence. I can see Ms Hofmeyer, Judge Zondo and you falling into a deep slumber at this rate. 

May I suggest some classic defences and attacks used most successfully by various public figures. Here they are. 

 The antonym defence. Example: ' I meant die for Mr X, not kill for Mr X'. 

 The Atypical Transient Global Amnesia defence. Example: 'I can't remember my date of birth, my date of marriage, today's date or which planet I am on'. 

 The 'they are out to get me' defence. This move allows one to choose from a wonderful smorgasbord of persecutors. Pravin Gordan, assorted spies, white Monopoly Capital, the Monopoly board game, Herman Mashaba, third fourth and fifth forces, are but a few. Please tap liberally into this one. 

 No defence or attack is complete without the 'it's apartheid' defence. This is a veritable Aladdin's cave of defence jewels. It would be criminal not to dip in. 

 You might take a leaf out of Mr Trump's voluminous book and use such versatile tools as 'fake news', 'fraud' and 'conspiracy'. 

 There's also the 'I didn't inhale' defence. Oops, sorry, that's for someone else I'm advising. 

 Madam, I believe that I have given you enough to start with . We can discuss other deliciously innovative moves as we take this Queen's Gambit to the limits.

 Let us follow the example of Mr Zuma among others, in transforming potentially boring sessions into seat - gripping drama. 

There is still opportunity for nomination to the Chutzpah awards. 

Carpe diem, Ms Myeni. 

 Yours in the struggle for inspirational commission performances. 

 Richard

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Flying, Finance And Fatcakes

Dear Ms Kwinana 

 I am in a quandary. 

I had Mr Zuma down as a sure thing for the South African Chutzpah Awards. For his Spies, Lies And DVDs performance at the commission. Then you came along, as the crooner sang. 

 Your straight - faced delivery of some of the funniest lines of the decade was a triumph. The shtick about terms and conditions vs contract still renders me helpless with laughter each time I remember it. Why, oh why, didn't I have this much fun drawing up all those damned employment contracts in HR? 

 You have shattered the myth that accountants have no sense of humour. I really like your 'what-the-heck' approach to the otherwise deadly dull legal stuff. Reminds me of the Marx Brothers movie where a contract is torn up piece by piece in response to 'do we really need this clause?' Did you guys ever do that? Your performance was so comically surreal that I felt like the writer of these lines:

 'Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth 

And danced the skies on laughter - silvered wings..' 

 Wouldn't this perhaps describe your lighthearted, innovative approach to the whole national carrier thing? People can be so dour. Nothing wrong with a bit of fun and inspiration. 

 Just for the hell of it, could you sign a contract for me? I'll fill in the insignificant details once you've signed the terms and conditions. A sort of 'just like old times' exercise. I can also see that it's quite easy to forget having signed the odd billion rand contract. One signs so many things these days. And there's so much going on. Elections in US and Ivory Coast, Hollywood and Bollywood style arrests in South Africa, DA conference, Stormers defeat....Is it any wonder that the little things may slip through cracks? 

 To those unkind folk who cast aspersions on your fitness as a chartered accountant, I say: 'Can you reduce the mysteries of high finance to a simple fatcake analogy?' Being partial to fatcakes myself, I found it most appropriate and enlightening. You clearly have your feet firmly planted on the ground - or hands firmly planted in the dough. 

 Yours in the love of flying, finance and fatcakes. 

 Richard

Bollywood- Style Arrest

Dear Law Enforcement Agencies

 Some time ago, I was awarded a couple of tenders to build bridges in Limpopo. At the time I happily hummed snatches of 'Love To Tender' and 'Try A Little Tendering'. So blissfully unaware was I of the trauma and grief that can follow a successful tender.

 I now see people being arrested left, right and centre (mainly on the left). As far as I can recall, I did nothing wrong. My cousin, who heads up the Finance Department, had nothing to do with this tender beyond a routine signature. 

 My civil engineering knowledge is limited to slashing my way through thick undergrowth with a panga. But we crossed that bridge. I subcontracted to someone who in turn subcontracted to someone else, who...Anyway, you get the drift. I am not sure whether the bridges were actually built or not. At any rate, it's my opinion that Limpopo looks better without bridges. Less colonized.

 But, to the heart of the matter. Like many of my comrades, I am disgusted and affronted and also pissed off by the Hollywood- style arrests. The dominance of White Monopoly Controlled, culturally insensitive policing must end. Phansi ne WMCCIP, phansi. We are a multicultural, African country. 

Should things come to that, I would prefer to be arrested Bollywood - style. I have appropriate theme music. I can have a troupe of dancing extras in within minutes. I request that the arresting officers be colourfully clad and in fine voice. Let's do this well or not at all (my preferred option). 

 Yours in the struggle for fairness, justice, professionalism. 

 Richard

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The Annual SA Chutzpah Awards

The comedies have been scintillating, the dramas spellbinding, the acting intense and flawless. For the judges, agonizingly difficult choices. 

Brushing aside such tough contenders as The Illegal Immigrant Who Defrauded COJ Of Millions, three productions stand out. Spies, Lies And DVDs has all the high drama of the world of espionage with moments of sheer comic genius. And this potentially awkward marriage of genres works largely because of a command performance from method actor, Jayzed. Known to his adoring fans as Number One, his Brandoesque mumble and trademark giggle had moviegoers riveted. A solid performance from a supporting cast of judge and legal eagles. I shan' t spoil the twisting, suspense - filled plot, but expect spies, lies and nasty devices. Rumour has it that Part II is on the way. Negotiations with the star are underway. 

 Tony Y stars in the side-splitting comedy The Righteous Stuff. The plot is a little far-fetched but the straight-faced delivery from a brilliant ensemble cast make this one well worth watching. A group of politicians and concerned citizens take on a corrupt, crumbling government. Under a couple of nimbus clouds themselves, they keep the audience guessing, as the witty, ironic one-liners fly. Watch for some of the funniest letters ever featured in a movie.You may recall Tony's starring role in another comedy, And Justice For All. He played a man who rose from obscurity to become head of an integrity committee.Jessie D won best supporting actress for that one. Her comic timing was nothing short of superb.

 Aces High is the story of one man's duel with the system. A convoluted plot, as a man with a mysterious past plays a high-stakes hawk and mouse game. Will they? Won't they? It does become a tad drawn out. But stay with this one. The explosive climax makes it all worthwhile. 

 And the Chutzpah goes to....

Ashes To Ashes

Dear Mr Malema 

 I once thought that The Siege Of SONA was your finest hour. I should have known that a CIC of your calibre would gather honours like the Namaqualand wildflowers. Siege Of Clicks, Siege Of Senekal. 

Doubtless the list, like the heart in that Titanic theme song, will go on. Rommel could not have scaled such heights. But then, he was white (even if somewhat tanned by the desert sun).

 You certainly started fires (whoa, don't sue - let me finish) in the hearts of your adoring followers. A professed Ground Forces member tweeted that everything (including animals) should be burnt, so that the land can be reclaimed. I think he meant the ash. But then again, who can argue against superior logic?

 Another private or corporal gave his or her measured opinion that Afrikaans is a useless language. I'm sure that dismayed former speakers of the language are abandoning it in droves.Probably turning to Gujarati and Mandarin. Yet another went further to declare it a satanic language. One must bow to the superior wisdom and experience of those who have accumulated special knowledge in that realm. Tutored, one supposes, by the master of the realm himself. 

 Sir, one doesn't want to hammer on about your philosophical blurring of the distinction between killing and dying for a person or cause. Nevertheless, can we expect a song about dying for the boer? Nah, perish the thought.

 Yours in whichever struggle comes next. 

 Richard

Crime In Black And White

Dear Mr Masina

 Are these really your words or has your account been hacked by a raving lunatic? Or someone on Durban Poison?

 "Blacks people must unite, these arrests are targeting abt black professionals and black business. We need to stand up and be counted. Some Whites have been stealing with impunity and they not arrested. It’s now or never." 

 When I had finished laughing, I succumbed to the irresistible urge to pen this letter to you. A friend had his first SASSA payout stolen before he could draw it. He too, saw the side-splitting humour in this tweet. Sir, what I understand is: 

 1. We should support suspects because they are black 

 2. There ought to be proportional representation of white suspects, a sort of BEE approach (more like WEE).

 I am sure that my friend will bear his misfortune with greater fortitude if it turns out that the fraudsters were, in the main, black. Of course, if there is appropriate white representation as well, I should think he will be giddy with joy.

 How do you suggest we show our support? I am quite willing to carry any number of those convicted shoulder high to the prison of choice. One doesn't want to quarrel with custom and tradition. Of course, weight limits need to be taken into account.

 Sir, I plan also to be mugged only by white muggers. I am planning my work and shopping routes accordingly. Over and above these patriotic efforts, I'm happy to forward your list (soon forthcoming, I'm sure) of white suspects to the relevant authorities. That, with a request that they be detained by black officers. I hope that helps.

 It's now or never, says the message. The latter seems more likely but we live in hope.

 Not only are you active in the struggle for proportional suspect representation but I see that you are planning to showcase service delivery. As any good City Of Ekhuruleni mayor should. Please include the magical, mystery bus service. We had such fun guessing and betting on whether buses would show up towards the end of last year. It kept us entertained for weeks. 

 Yours in the struggle for proportional representation.

 Richard

The Zuma Odyssey: 2018

Dear Mr President 

 Our friendly correspondence draws to a close. The long day wanes. The slow moon climbs and all that. 

You will recognize that fragment from Tennyson's Ulysses, whose epic voyage rather resembles yours. Except that yours seems to have been written by Homer Simpson, rather than the Greek poet whose name he bears. It may not be the deep that moans round with many voices but certainly the whole country has been moaning for a long, long time. Mourning too. Perhaps the sirens' song had deafened you. 

 The line from Tennyson's poem that is most apt for you: Push off and sitting well in order smite the sounding furrows.... Just the first two words. You were getting so close to the truly greats: Uncle Bob, Mbasogo of Equatorial Guinea, Al-Bashir and the rest. A few more years and you could have totally gutt....I mean...transformed the country. 

 According to the 'novels' that you recently referred to, you could have taught Ulysses a thing or two about Trojan horses. SARS, the NPA, Treasury, the security cluster, fell faster than Troy, we are told, as your men poured out of their wooden horses like a cockr...sorry... commando invasion. You got by Scylla and Charybdis. Or was it Zille and Charybdis? Your cyclops could have been those steely-eyed judges. Just as Ulysses did, you tried to get by them, shielded by a sheep. It almost worked until they declared that The Sheep Stops Here.

 It would be remiss of us not to mention the men and women who rowed so lustily at your command. Oblivious to the ever-present peril of imminent shipwreck. 'I number them too in the song'. 

 Now you have returned from your wanderings to find the house full of suitors. Sadly, there is no great bow to bend. You broke it and this one ends differently. It has been a long wearisome voyage. Still, as Tennyson put it: 

 Though much is taken much abides and tho We are not now that strength which in old days

 Moved Earth and heaven,

 that which we are we are; 

 One equal temper of heroic hearts, Made weak by time and fate,

 but strong in will To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

 Yours in the quest for a safe harbour.

 Richard

(Slow) Death And Taxes 2017

Dear SARS People

 I used to partner with a network marketing business that offered brilliant travel deals. 

 The state programme has them licked, though. Travel in comfort, enjoy the finest accommodation and receive a daily allowance greater than the monthly salary of many South Africans. That's travelling in style. 

 I wish to sign up without delay. I meet the requirements. I am related to several Cabinet ministers through the Adam and Eve connection. I support and promote South African business, as vendors of magwinyas and other fine local cuisine will attest. 

 Recent riveting reports of one such state (read taxpayer) sponsored shop...sorry... diplomatic excursion reminded me of our hate - hate relationship dear SARS people. With respect. Nothing personal, as my mentor, the Don used to say - just business. After all, you do hoover up a significant portion of my desperately hard earned remuneration. I labour for a substantial portion of the year just for you (must add that to my CV).

 When I reluctantly signed up for your programme, I was ever so slightly mollified by the notion that my tax money would go to some worthy causes. I count among them housing, relief for the poor and elderly, hospitals etc. I was glad to see that some progress was indeed made on housing, notably that quaint dwelling place among the green hills of my own home province. The one with a ritzy swimming pool and provision for domestic animals.

 I already do a great deal of travelling and would like to discuss a suitable daily allowance. Those daily trips from Germiston to Fourways and back do take a toll on the well-worn wallet. I look forward to similar relief. 

My own needs are quite modest. Aforementioned magwinyas, chips the odd JMPD special (streetwise two). My daily allowance would amount to a fraction of that allocated to some shopp...sorry... business emissaries. 

 Some of my fellow South Africans are less patient and one occasionally hears talk of a tax revolt. I am dead against the notion. Staves, pikestaffs and the guillotine have no place in our gentler, kinder democracy. Even if one of you volunteers for the 'it is a far far better thing that I do' role. We are reasonable, civilized people, to quote Don Vito, and I, for one, would welcome a discussion over a cup of rooibos. I am keen to see what you can put on (and I can take off) the proverbial table. Should you not respond in good faith, I shall demand that you point me to the unsubscribe link on your website. I shall withdraw from the programme with dignity. No hard feelings (or hard cash). 

 I look forward to a prompt, business-like response. 

 Yours in the no - taxation - without - meaningful - representation movement. 

 Richard

Lord Of The Dance 2018

Dear Mr Malema 

 Despite my relief at the changing of the guard in high places, I was somewhat concerned that we would be starved of our accustomed servings of entertainment. 

 Our singing, dancing former president, like that other great entertainer, has left the building. The Force is no longer with our tweeting former minister of police. Ms Muthambi, silver-tongued presenter of budget speeches, is perhaps even now talking to the trees. The time of the entertainers, like that of the elves, seemed to have passed.

 Thank goodness for you. You have the moves like Jagger. Who can forget your professed readiness to kill and then later to die for the Dancing One? Later, you expressed regret for your role in seating him on the throne. Now, with a deft tango - like swivel, you have moved on again. If reports are true, you have magnanimously stowed away the Marikana stick with which you loved to beat Mr Ramaphosa. It appears from the same report that you are ready to dump your occasional dance partner, the DA. Perhaps to move into the embrace of the ANC? Those of a cynical disposition may see this as opportunistic maneuvering for a plum position. I am simply reminded of the old song, Mister Bojangles:  

He jumped so high, jumped so high. And then he lightly touched down Mr Bojangles, Lord that man could dance... 

 So can you sir; so can you.

 Yours in the love of the dance.

 Richard

The Impossible Dream

Dear Mr Malema

 I slept the untroubled sleep of the just last night, knowing that you are on your way to Senekal. 

What a noble mission: to protect property, democracy, the constitution and anything else that needs protection Your sterling record speaks for itself. Who can forget your crusade against the purveyors of racist hair products? Who can forget Mr Shivambu, like a kindly uncle, lecturing that journalist on (I assume) democracy and dialectical materialism. I am still moved by the image of his hand gently resting on the man's neck. "You feel me?" were probably his concluding words. 

 The words from that Man Of La Mancha theme song come to mind. 'To fight for the right, without question or pause'. Except that you are fighting for the left, I think. Certainly, without question or pause. Or thought, said a friend. Sir, unlike the philosophers like Hamlet and Dr Ace, you are first and foremost a man of action. Rambo, Donald Trump, Vladimir Putin - they shoot from the hip - or the lip. So, I think, do you. Guadalcanal, Gallipoli and other names will forever echo in the spacious halls of history. Likewise, Clicks, Parliament, Senekal..... 

 I am at this moment so inspired that I must borrow from Blake's Jerusalem, lightly cannibalized (not the other one everyone is dancing to): 

 Bring me my bow of burning gold Bring me my arrows of desire

 Bring me my spear, o clouds unfold! 

Bring me my chariot of fire. 

I will not cease from mental fight, nor physical 

 Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand Till we have built Jerusalem In Mzansi's green and pleasant land. 

 Sir, I am overcome with nau...sorry...emotion. 

 Yours in the quest for the impossible dream. 

 Richard

Don't Call Us - Ever

Dear South African Editors 

 Granted, Jayzed, Dr Ace and friends keep you very busy. We freelancers would really appreciate the odd response to our submissions though. A courteous 'b***** off' would suffice. I know it's even harder for the thinking man or thinking woman's newspaper, The Daily Sun. Tracking down zombies, short boys and witches must be devilishly hard work. My only gripe is that vampires are not getting fair coverage. 

 I propose a simple procedure for dealing with those irksome submissions from freelancing peasants. Below is a list of standard responses which could be delegated to a secretary, who could then do a 'my mother said I should pick this one' selection. She could then mail the responses and Bob's your ex - president. Feel free to use these in combination. 

 Why didn't you take your mother's advice and become a teacher?

 Voertsek. 

 Does your mother know you write this stuff?  

Do you have a mother? 

 What harm have we ever done you? (Apologies to Peanuts) 

 Have you considered an alternative career - mass murderer or something? 

 We suggest you hurry back to the mother ship. 

 Whoever told you you could write will burn for eternity.

 Don't call us ever. 

 How did you get our address in your jungle dwelling? 

 May we recommend a good psychiatrist? 

 Burn your matric certificate and, if it were legal, your English teacher.

 In the words of our former president: 'heh, heh, heh'. 

 We have never used the word 'execrable' as a compliment, until now. 

 I trust this will help and I am sure freelancers will be glad of a response. You may remember the siege of an editor's house some time ago. I am not saying that I was behind it.

 I look forward to one of these encouraging, nurturing responses in the future. 

 Yours in the struggle for (some) communication.

 Richard

The Book Of Taxi

Dear SANTACO and other taxi associations

 I have tumbled onto your secret. My informants, who are as numerous as EFF ground forces, have revealed the following. 

 In a catacomb - like vault, in a remote location, lies The Book Of Taxi. Upon this book are sworn blood oaths, while the Laws Of Taxi are recited. Some of the principal laws are: 

 You shall yield to no man or woman upon road or highway. 

When pedestrians scurry across the road, you shall bear down upon them to within an inch. The purpose is twofold:

 1. To confirm who the kings of the road are. 

2. To hone your skills to the razor sharpness demanded of the brotherhood of Taxi. 

 Passengers are the scum of the earth. You shall tolerate them but never accommodate them. You shall respond to questions with grunts and monosyllabic utterances. Any driver transgressing this sacred law shall be banished to Uber and forever shunned by The Brotherhood Of Taxi. 

 You shall, however, communicate freely with other drivers on the roads. The traditional greetings 'fuseki' and 'msu...we...a' may be liberally used. This is in alignment with our brand as 'the courteous ones'. 

 You shall never reveal the location of the secret bank where all change is deposited at midnight. Rebellious passengers must be taught to tender the exact fare. 

 All Taxis are 4 by 4 vehicles and may boldly go where none has been before. That includes Captain Kirk.

 Hooters are a means of communication and are to be vigorously used at every conceivable opportunity. Traffic gridlock qualifies as a prime opportunity. 

 Despite anything that Toyota may say to the contrary, the purpose of brakes is to squeeze the last ounce of resistance (and other substances) out of stubborn passengers. These shall be used at every opportunity. Should no opportunity present itself, you shall create one. 

 I trust that my reliable informants will unearth more nuggets in due course. 

 Yours in the struggle for mastery of the highways.

 Richard

Betrayed

People in the Tsantsabane municipality in Postmasburg, Northern Cape, sit in misery and darkness for the third day this week. 

 They buy prepaid electricity but the municipality seems to have overlooked the small matter of passing payment on to Eskom. Eskom punishes the municipality. The municipality punishes paying residents. No power means no water. Parents struggle to feed their babies. Grant recipients cannot have their grants processed. Businesses operate in darkness or shut down. This comes on the heels of the recent loadshedding. Misery upon misery. 

 In a crisis, leaders communicate. Ah, but this is South Africa. The land that empathy and compassion forgot. This sorry mess begs many questions. No doubt the servants of the people have many interesting answers. But the rest is silence. We have become used to abuse and betrayal. Unhealthy. 

In the same town, a friend went through fingerprinting and all the security precautions required to get his SASSA card. Before he could draw his first payment, the card was stopped and a new one issued to a thief. He is still waiting for the investigation to be concluded. It boggles the mind. Elaborate security precautions, paper and electronic trails - what the hell happened? 

Something we have become strangely used to. Corrupt officials colluded with the vilest of the vile. 

Where are you ANC, EFF, and the rest? Oh, you have roads to rename and insults to avenge. 

 We are betrayed. 

 I and the public know, wrote Auden, 

What all school children learn: Those to whom evil is done, Do evil in return.

 But to do evil to the people who placed their trust in you. Who pay the taxes that pay your unmerited salaries: that is wickedness beyond comprehension.

Truth, Media, Mr Malema

Dear Mr Malema 

 Good on you for banning those meddlesome, captured media people from your events. I can see them squirming in anguish as they miss out on the revolutionary pearls of wisdom.

 Just today, someone on Twitter suggested that Mr Shivambu should sue Pauli van Wyk for 'deformation' of character. Initially, I thought that was an understandable spelling error. Then the chilling truth struck me like a strategically placed shoe in a parliamentary scuffle. What demonic powers do these journalists wield? 

No wonder you took that wise decision. I have cancelled her invitations to all of my press briefings. Sir, I trust only The Daily Sun for objective reporting. A tokoloshe, after all, is a tokoloshe, is a tokoloshe. No margin for fake news and bias there. Besides, any reporter courageous enough to chase a zombie down has my full confidence. I would give them an open door to all media events. 

 You were reported as saying that Mr Gordhan actually writes their questions (the suspect media people, not The Daily Sun). My, he is a busy man. I have long suspected his possible involvement in global warming, the American election and magwinya price - fixing. 

Sir, I am willing to follow that story, if you could see your way clear to covering some daily expenses. My needs, while on the murky trail, are simple. A hired Range Rover (so as to be inconspicuous in the relevant circles). Free passes to several...er...artistic dance clubs, where my informants are not afraid to bare all. I can assure you that I will write my own, penetrating questions.

 Yours in search of the naked truth.

 Richard

In Search Of Excellence 2017

Written back in the halcyon days of the Zuma era. 

 Dear Gupta Family 

 I apologize for not being able to greet you by first names. I am sure that that will change as we become, first, firm Facebook friends, then graduate to sharing stories and fine brandies before the fireplace.

 I am moved to congratulate you on your innovative approach to the recruitment business. If reports are to be believed, you have gone big. Of course I need to check the ever - reliable Daily Sun for confirmation. While other agencies dabble in such lowly appointments as brain surgeons and nuclear physicists, you focus on the creme de la creme. Cabinet ministers and the like, no less. At the standard 15% recruitment fee, that should translate to some tasty 'splodges of wonga' (to quote a great British entrepreneur). 

 The recent cabinet cleans....sorry...reshuffle must be an additional boon. That brings me to the purpose of my letter. I, too, wish to make a pil..er...contribution. As an avid Sharks supporter, I am a shoe-in for a role in the Sports Ministry. I am willing to endure the gruelling routine of attending rugby matches and the ordeal of five-star hotel accommodation. Throw me into the deep end, I say. 

 The security cluster is another natural home, as I've devoured spy novels all my life. Discretion and high ethical standards are my trademarks. I would never disclose official secrets, such as payments of facilitation fees, not even under waterboarding. (Which I've learned to handle from said novels, anyway). I used to spy on smoking schoolmates, so that ticks the experience box. 

 Roving African ambassador would also suit. I have worked in Botswana and Sierra Leone and flown over several other countries. I am an excellent communicator, adept at translating 'show me the money' into several languages. 

 I am flexible about remuneration and no amount is too large. 

 Yours in the struggle for excellence in recruitment. 

 Richard

FLOG Salutes Ms Ndabeni-Abrahams

Dear Ms Ndabeni-Abrahams

 We, of FLOG, the Front For The Liberation Of Geneva, salute you. Your bold declaration that Geneva is not part of Switzerland is just the sort of shot in the butt that our cause needed. 

We have long languished under the yoke of occupation, our struggle ignored by the international community. You have become for us a modern Che Guevara of international diplomacy. Your own country's history of valiant struggle against tyranny commends you as a sort of Wilhelmina Tell. As you can tell, we have done our Google research.We were a little puzzled by references to the liberation and redeployment of billions in taxpayer dollars in your country. Perhaps you can explain that on your next, much anticipated, visit.

 You are the very first visitor to see beyond the facade of the contented, chocolate - munching, gluhwein - sipping citizen. You have heard the discordant note in our yodels. Please do let us know when next you plan to visit (with your esteemed spouse, of course). We wish to bestow upon you the freedom of the city-state. It goes without saying that we also intend to present you with our highest award, the Wilhelm Tell Award (a bronzed bow with arrow-pierced apple).

 Yours in the grim struggle for self - determination. 

 Klaus Kornfeld 

 Secretary General of FLOG

Fat Of The Land

Written some years ago, before my blog host pulled a vanishing food parcel act (iblog.co.za, in case you're also looking for them). 

 It does seem that, in South Africa, the more things change, the more they stay the same. One - sized trough fits all pigs.

 Dear Lepelle Nkupi Councillors

 Bravo. The citizen describes your municipality as financially crippled yet still having the chutzpah to spend more than half a million on expensive wines, whiskeys and catering at the state of the municipality address.

 Interestingly, a similar sum was mentioned in connection with those entertainment areas for some deserving MP's. (Read my lips. not braai areas). Is there a some mystique about the half-a-million Rand mark? 'Half A Million Blown' does make slightly better reading than 'Millions Wasted'. Good thinking. 

Clearly, you have also mastered the financial approach that works so well for some SOEs, various state entities and assorted municipalities. Simply stated: spend your way out of the financial toilet, or, might as well be hung for a whole flock as for a lamb. Also known as the Marie Antoinette school of Economics: let them drink whiskey.

 Your bold 'can -spend' approach raises some interesting questions and points. First, many South Africans whose finances are in a similar, parlous state would love to know how you do it. We too would love to turn our deficits into the stuff of feasting and drinking. Please do share once your digestive systems have settled. Second it's a mystery to us as to why you needed 6 hours, heaps of grub and gallons of booze to convey the simplest and most obvious of messages: our municipality is stuffed. 

Of course, we South Africans will party at the drop of a makaraba. Who am I to question culture and tradition? Budgets and corporate governance are so last decade. Eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow there's the taxpayer. 

 Typically, the spoilsport DA carped about your catering costs. People, they say, are wallowing in poverty. They don't have access to such basic services as water. Lighten up D A people. Who needs water when there's fine whiskey and wine? I am glad to see that you responded that the money is a drop in the ocean. Please lead us to that abundant ocean. Many of us could do with a drop of that dimension. 

 Yours in the quest for memorable state of the municipality addresses.

 Richard

Lords Of The Bling

In the shires lived the people of Middleground. 

Not always happily, for there were divisions among those who wore white, those who wore black and those whose preferences ran to multi-hued garments.

 Little did they know that misery untold was yet to come. For the lords of Moredough had discovered the Bling. A magical ring that made the wearer's deeds invisible, many in Middleground sought the Bling. Some for good, some for evil. But the Bling made many a person mad with greed and the lust for power. And so it came to pass that the thick smoke of corruption and greed rose daily from the towers of Moredough. And from its gates, the Okes, half - man, half beast, poured out to rob and to plunder. Fear and anger reigned in Middleground.

 But the Bling began to lose it's power from excessive use. The eyes of the people were opened. They saw the devastation wreaked by the brutish Okes. Smelled the stench of the thick smoke rising daily from Moredough. And they said: "Enough". Middleground rose up.

 Only the dwarves, gaily dressed in scarlet said: "We will not join in your battle. We have other fish to fry." And they danced off gaily down the streets, as was their custom.

In The Name Of Freedom

Dear Fellow South Africans 

 I thank the ANC and Mr Mnangagwa of Zimbabwe. I have been wrestling with problems of horrific debt and everything else that makes South Africa no country for old men - or anyone else who is not an ANC cadre or politicopreneur.

 I have adopted their novel, courageous approach to facing down the elephants in the room. I have renamed myself and my dogs. My street comes next. 'Fir Avenue' reeks of all things colonial. White Christmases, large, red jacketed men on reindeer - drawn sleighs and other hateful reminders of our colonial past. I removed the garden gnome  - another bearded white person. I was about to throw out the refrigerator when I spotted a half-dozen Castles and a wedge of cheese in it. I renamed it instead. 

 I have written to all my creditors, pointing out that usury is quintessentially a foreign, colonial invention. I have asked them to join me in breaking the chains so that we both may be free at last. 

 This is not solely about me and my struggles. I have drawn up a list of helpful renaming suggestions for our leaders. One example: William Nicol to William Nick All. In line with our culture. Easy and less confusing to adapt to.

 Complementing that patriotic initiative, I am careful about appropriate education for the kids. No Ali Baba And The Forty Thieves for them. Baba And The Forty Thousand Thieves is far more culturally correct for our part of the world.

 I do my part. 

 Yours in the struggle to rename our way to peace and prosperity.

 Richard

Trump, Zille, All Atwitter

Dear Mr Trump 

I voted for you in the last election. My vote was discounted on the flimsy justification that I am South African. Damned Democrats. I wear American clothes, eat KFC, use American Express and drink Starbucks coffee (in great quantities). I am going to try an online vote this time and we hope to carry you into the house as the comrades carried Tony Yengeni into the other house.

 Be that as it may. I read some years ago that you and Ms Zille may be addicted to / enslaved by Twitter ('verslaaf' was the Afrikaans word used). As one who keeps himself pure and aloof from the fleshly temptations of the cyberworld, I offer this. I have long suspected that Twitter and other social media are the infernal tools of the enemy of mankind. One hears of such sinister things as trolls, bots and 'Twitter gaol'. What next? Twitter executions?

 Sir, I have noticed that your ran...sorry....tweets have become increasingly numerous and, er, weighty. I fear that World War Three may be triggered by Twitter activity. Perhaps even fought on Twitter. You seem to be making strides in that direction. Ms Zille, in contrast, has been relatively restrained of late, I think. It may be that she has been taking the cure I am about to offer you.

 If you can see your way clear to a sponsored visit, I can offer you a case of quality mampoer. It's been known to awake people from a deep coma. Some rooibos, videos of famous Springbok rugby victories (the Bafana video went missing) and a five minute video entitled 'Wise Words Of South African Politicians' complete the cure. A pleasant, painless rehabilitation programme.

 A White House tour and a brief chat on foreign policy (walling techniques etc.) will be adequate compensation. 

Yours in the struggle against human trafficking. 

Richard