The Chronicles: Time Of Plagues

When the reign of  King Jayzed was ended, there came forth another out of the tribe of the Ancites.

Ram Pozaar sat but a few days upon the throne when a plague spread throughout the whole earth.  The king tarried not but gathered his ministers and counsellors about him. And a decree went through the land that every man, woman and child should hasten to their abodes, shut the doors and there abide for a season. The people were well pleased and did hasten to obey. And many praised the king for his wisdom.

At that time, B'eki, son of Chella, the king's minister, rose up to speak. 

"There is a curse upon the  Beloved Land", said he. "Because of those who go to drink wine from morning till evening. Behold their violence   reaches to the heavens. Let us stop every wine vat and shut up the doors of the wine merchants".

And so it was done according to his word. But some  of the people did mutter and grumble, saying:

"Does not wine gladden the heart? Shall there be no more laughter upon our lips? Indeed, the times are dark and full of sorrow".

Then there arose also a  minister called Endeezed and she proclaimed in a loud voice:

"Those who burn strange incense do bring sickness upon the land. Away with them and the smoke of their abominable sacrifices". And the burners of incense and the merchants were commanded to refrain from all that they did. And again there arose in the land the sound of mourning and murmering. But the son of Chella, filled with indignation, sought out the rebellious ones, to bind them and cast them into prison.

And the king and his ministers stored up grain for there was hunger in the land. And they sent for grain from foreign lands until the storehouses were filled. But lo, there came forth a plague of vermin and they devoured the grain to the last morsel. Then there went up in the land a great cry as of mourning and anger. And some stood forth and cried out:

"Behold the Ancites have brought upon us a sore plague. It is from their own houses and sewers that the vermin spring forth. Make clean your own houses ere you would command us in ours". 

And one among the Ancites proclaimed:

"Judge us not for is not this the curse of the Natites, the rulers of old? Upon their heads be it". But the people stopped their ears and gnashed their teeth.

 For their anger burned as a fiery furnace.

Here end the chronicles for the future is not written in the hand of scribes.

Reach For The Skies

Dear ANC Cabinet

Here is the solution to SAA's woes.

Don't throw any more money at this chronically ailing cash crocodile.

Who flies faster and lower across the country than the minibus taxi people? Who delivers millions of people to destinations across the land? Whose wrecks litter ..., oops,sorry, that slipped in. Flying is already in the blood of our taxi drivers. It's just a matter of learning to take off and land. My twelve year old nephew does that daily on his flight simulation game. 

Let the minibus taxi industry reach for the skies. Advantages are numerous. 

Some taxis resemble veterans of world war two tank battles. Anyone who can keep those on the road will have no trouble with aircraft maintenance. Do away with expensive airport infrastructure and staff. A couple of queue marshalls will whip everybody into line (literally, if necessary).

Unencumbered by the JMPD and other traffic police, our pilots are bound to make record times. Away with cumbersome booking and payment systems. Take a leaf out of the Book Of Taxi. Passengers line up on the runways and give the appropriate signals. A thumbs up for Durban, two for Cape Town. Two fingers up for the Eastern Cape. A limp-wristed thumbs down for Limpopo etc. The passenger in the front seat collects and counts the money - efficient and egalitarian. Passengers will thrill to the genuine South African travel experience. 

Flight plans - who needs them? Everyone knows where Durban is.  Joe's magwinyas and skop (sheep's head) alongside Ocean Basket will provide the ultimate South African dining experience in the terminal. There is a hotel providing 'a township experience' at more than R1000 a night. So, don't think that this is a bizarre notion. On the contrary, it will serve to unite the two South Africas. 

There we are: a simple South African solution, based on a working model. 

Yours in the struggle for efficiency.

Richard

Defence Of The Realm

Dear Mr Mnangagwa

So your courageous security people uncovered a plot to overthrow your duly elected government. By a journalist and an opposition politician. Dangerous combination. Sounds like the kind of threat Tom Cruise would face in one of the missions impossible. I just don't know how your guys do it. Time and again. So many threats, so little time. 

Sir, have your very capable people investigated thoroughly? This could be just the tip of the proverbial iceberg. What about your ministers and army people? Don't you think there may also be nurses, doctors, HR managers, street sweepers and others involved? Motive and opportunity are there, as the best TV crime series advise. I would look closely at postmen. They could carry all sorts of things besides letters.There might be some sinister symbolism behind their always knocking twice. There may well be a hotbed of agitators and subversives, all dressed in sheepskin coats. Why not simply lock up every tenth person, just to be sure. Better safe than overthrown. 

As for the US involvement, one wonders what they may be after in Zimbabwe. The banana crop maybe? Or is it the nuts? (I've been told that they thrive in your fertile soil). I knew from the start that Trump was up to no good with the constant tweeting. There they go, 'interfering in the course of justice' by Twitter. Is there no limit to their depravity? After all, which country can boast that their mills of justice grind as swiftly and surely as yours? It is not difficult to guess that the other foreign power you refer to is the little satan, Britain. From time immemorial they have been sticking their noses into your business. Probably to detract from their own problems back home. Which road is named after Boris Johnson? You have ten.

Yours in the struggle against counter-revolutionaries.

Richard

The Sting

Dear Fellow South Africans

Along with Covid came Corruption and a veritable army of Con Artists. Our own three horsemen of the apocalypse. There is apparently an ANC meeting to discuss corruption in all its varied, colourful forms. That's alright, then.

A friend told me recently of a gold and diamond business promising handsome returns to investors. Feeling a prickling sensation, like the memory of an old wasp sting, I quickly turned to faithful Google. 'Carte Blanche', the investigative TV programme, and scourge of many con artists, immediately came up alongside the name of the fabled company. My friend groaned. As well he might. The company was as solid as a child's soap bubble.

I avoid, like the virus, any organization whose name begins with the word 'Crowd'. Crowdwajo's barely literate ramblings should have been warning enough for us. Crowd 1 is being investigated and already smells like one of the pit toilets the tenderpreneurs neglected. A crowd farming venture last year gave it's investors only one thing: the startling discovery that chickens can fly. Far and fast. Crowd ANC also scares me.

I believe in network marketing. It's one of the few ways that an ordinary Joe can be in business without paying an arm and a leg plus several organs. But, dear investor, ask at least the following questions:

Show me your registration. Any answer that includes 'um' and 'er' is your cue to flee as if the devil were after you. And indeed, he is.

Describe your product or service. Pixie dust does not qualify.

Who are the founders or the executive? Check these against Interpol lists.

You know that network marketing is hard, time-consuming work - like any business. At least three things make it harder in South Africa:

Justified suspicion and cynicism.

The cost of products, regardless of how good the quality might be.

The realization that hits eager - beaver affiliates quite early that this is hard work. And it's not a sprint.

Then there are the con artists.

Walk softly. Bonne Chance.

Yours in the struggle.

Richard

No River Runs Through It

Mr Zuma is back in the news. That reminds me that I need to pay tribute to him for his contribution to geography. A letter I wrote to him:

Dear Mr Former President 

Now that time lies lightly or heavily upon your hands, I feel emboldened to make this request.

Ever since your continent-shaking geography lesson, I have been haunted by perplexing questions and shadowy suspicions. To quote the troubled prince: 'Sir, in my soul there was a kind of fighting that would not let me sleep.' You were president. You had at your disposal researchers, academics, the secret service and boundless resources. Do I believe you or my geography teachers? It's a no-brainer. If you say that all other continents can fit into ours, that's good enough for me. If you say that no river runs through it, why then, so it is. 

That tells me that our former colonial masters, not content with colonizing our lands, have perpetrated the same perfidy on our minds. Witness the monstrous lies in our geography text books and maps. Typically, Africa is shown at a fraction of her actual size. Anything to make us look small. 'Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery'. I'm with Bob Marley on that one (and Uncle Bob in his time). 

To that end, I plan to begin by re-drawing world maps as they should be. My cousin, Joe, is an artist of no mean talent. His works adorn many walls in our Germiston suburb (Philistines call it graffiti). He finishes serving his sentence for so-called 'repeated acts of vandalism' in a few days. We would like you, Mr Former President, to be our patron as we change the course of, if not history, at least a few rivers. 

In addition, please do consent to be an expert witness in my lawsuit against my geography teachers and the education establishment. I plan to sue for mental anguish caused, loss of opportunity and income and several other injuries I will have conjured up by the time you read this. To quote from that art classic 'Body Heat': "We'll sue those reckless b#%^ dry". 

Yours in the struggle for true, mind-liberating education.

Richard 

Robocop

Dear Minister Of Police

Some time ago I read with great consternation of a flight crew that was robbed in Sandton. What really alarmed me was that they had reportedly stopped at a robot when the robbery took place.

Sir, the South African public would dearly like to know what robots are doing on the streets of Sandton? Why do they not have traffic lights like every other suburb? Is this Sandton one upmanship? Even in Japan, where robots do everything short of marriage counselling, they are not allowed to run amok on the city streets. I find it most irresponsible on the part of the authorities. Have they not seen The Matrix? Do we not have enough trouble with roving bands of ruthless, lawless smokers and drinkers?

I suggest that your efficient police force takes a break from chasing down the bandits mentioned above. Perhaps an elite unit should be formed immediately. Call them Robocops. Surely, bands of marauding robots are a greater threat to our idyllic South African way of life. A friend has a theory that government has already been infiltrated. He says that some of the logic and behaviour in those quarters is neither normal nor human. He is a great kidder.

Sir, I trust that you will take as personal an interest in this alarming development as you do in cigarette and alcohol related shenanigans.

Please do keep us informed, with the same eloquent, crystal-clear flow of information that we've been fed during this difficult time.

Yours in the struggle against cyber-crime.

Richard

Road To Ruin

Dear Mr Mnangagwa

I read that you wanted to name ten roads after yourself. Nice round number and should cover most of the country. Also one way to ensure that you go down in history. Some people say they'd love to see you go down - period.

I imagine this does make giving and taking directions quite simple. Directions to the ruins would probably go something like:

"Take Mnangagwa Road out of Bulawayo and keep going north until you reach Mnangagwa Drive after about 100 kilometres.

 The road does get pretty bumpy but hang in there. You're bound to find the ruins - can't miss them with this new mnanagwarization of the road systems. About 60 Km down Mnangagwa Drive, look out for Mnangagwa Crescent on the left (where else?). Follow that for 70 kilometres, then watch for the on-ramp to Mnangagwa Highway. By this time, signs and pointers to the ruins will be just about everywhere.  Zimbabwean drivers don't really need the markers. It's a well known route. South Africans and others, though, need to read the signs quite carefully."

Mr Mnangagwa, I trust that you also have a statue or two in mind. I think you need to make sure that you at least keep pace with your predecessor.

Yours in the quest for immorality..., oops, immortality.

Richard 

The City's Finest

Dear Municipal Police

I must commend you on your professional pragmatic approach to policing. Apparently American officers love doughnuts. You have gone the healthy, nutritious route of KFC, if talk on the street is to be believed. Nothing like white meat to build up and maintain the strength and endurance needed to maintain Law and Order in our sometimes dangerous city. Particularly important now that dangerous illicit smokers and drinkers are on the loose on our streets. Any potential lawbreaker with an ounce of sense is bound to be far more respectful of a chicken licking officer than of a doughnut dunking one.

I have heard scurrilous talk of bribery and corruption, none of which I believe. Whenever I see you in your well tailored uniforms, an aura of professionalism emanates from you like a fine perfume. I myself have never been propositioned. A friend pointed out that I do not drive. That is merely splitting hairs.

Some complain that you are never around during what are euphemistically described as traffic jams. That is eminently sensible. One could get run over by an impatient taxi driver. Besides many jams occur on rainy days. Why spoil the creases on those immaculate uniforms. There will be traffic again tomorrow. I have seen you on occasion clearing a path through the chaos, lights flashing and sirens blaring. It made the waiting more bearable to know that you were on your way to what was probably an even worse traffic jam. A cynical friend said that you were rushing to get to KFC before closing. That's ridiculous. KFC doesn't close.

Another friend told this dubious tale of how he was stopped for a traffic violation. He accidentally passed over a R100 note with his licence.

"Tito speaks for me", he said, clearly just making conversation.
"Tito is whispering", replied the officer. "I can't hear him."

My friend then accidentally handed over a twin to the first note, which according to the officer raised the conversational volume to an acceptable level. This would have been a fine example of the keen wit of our City's finest were it not so implausible. My friend, an accountant, is given to flights of fancy,  so common to those of his profession.

May the force be with you.

Richard

Masterchef

Dear Ms Mokonyane

I am disappointed. 

Now that you have set the record straight at the Zondo Commission, my idea dies a sudden death.

I read your supposed Christmas grocery list some time ago in The Daily Sun, a publication for which I have a high regard. (After all, it's a special breed of journalist that has the courage to go after zombies, tokoloshes and other creatures that go 'eish' in the night. Anyone can do state capture).

As a committed carnivore, I thought then that you would be the ideal host for a TV cooking programme focusing on meat. I pictured you in a gaily coloured Bosasa apron, sipping on a diet coke from one of the 120 boxes. Smiling into the camera against a backdrop of rows of carcasses, you would, I imagined, begin with:

"Take ten chickens, two lambs and 100 Kg of beef. Saute two bags of onions, add a tub of garlic...."

And that would be the starter. One could almost smell the heavenly aromas wafting from your kitchen. So gripped was I by this vision, that I rushed out to buy R20 worth of award - winning Bapsfontein wors. 

I suppose there's now no point in my pursuing negotiations with the SABC. 

Yours in the quest for fine dining experiences. 

Richard 

To Pee Or Not To Pee

Dear Relevant Ministers 

With the current  focus on the twin evils of smoking and drinking, I must have missed something. When did drinking and urinating in public become legal in South Africa? I do understand that one tends to follow the other. Still, surely there ought to be some limits on where one may exercise these new rights. If that's what they are.

One morning, a fellow had several ladies choking on their breakfast magwinyas. He casually emptied his bladder outside a popular cafe. Were it not for my skills with the Heimlich manoeuvre, who knows what lurid headlines might have greeted us the next morning. 'Death Slash' and the like. 

That very afternoon, our taxi driver stopped near a park, leapt out and marked one of the trees. It was probably the stressful dash from Forways to town. And the encounters with the JMPD. 

Topping the day's bizarre sequence of events was an incident in Primrose. As I strolled through its tranquil streets on my way home, a fellow stepped out of his yard and urinated on the pavement. At that, in the words of Mr Pound, I was mildly abashed. Was there a queue in his house? Did the sight of my burly figure looming out of the East Rand fog loosen his bladder? Clearly, to pee or not to pee is no longer the question.

As I said to my neighbour Lawrence (sharing a Black Label and a joint on our street corner), miss one night of TV news and you are Rip van Winkle. I appeal to you ministers to please give us sufficient notice of changes to the laws. I'd hate to make a citizen's arrest on some bloke sniffing cocaine in Hassan's cafe, only to find that it became legal the pevious night.

Yours in the struggle to maintain law and order.

Richard 

Happy Returns

Dear SARS

I salute you with the traditional two-fingered salute of my people - the people burdened by taxes that seem to perpetually feed an enormous, black hole.

I'm sure that you are all very nice people. Under different circumstances we might have been firm friends. After all, even my best friends and closest family aren't as free with my wallet and pay cheque as you are. I've worked for you all my life and cannot even include that on my CV. 

Every time I think of you, the tears come to my eyes. Oops, that's a line from a song. I meant I'm reminded of the words of David, whenever I think of you. Not Cameron, the psalmist-king:

whither shall I flee from thy presence?

 If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there.

 If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea

......

thy right hand shall hold me.

 If I say, Surely the darkness shall cover me; even the night shall be light about me....

Are you not treading on the sovereign territory of the Almighty? Incidentally, i don't think the part about heaven applies. Perhaps the other place.

You will soon once more bend your unwavering gaze on my tax return. I'm confident that your superb information- gathering systems will also sweep up the fortunes made on black market cigarettes and alcohol. I can assure you that those taxes will build many more hospitals, schools and houses. Isn't it just a matter of following the paper or cyber trails, as they do in the movies and books? I should think the same methods will apply to dodgy tenderpreneurs and the colourful assortment of food parcel and other thieves we breed in such profusion.

Many happy returns.

Richard 

Decent Jobs

Dear South African Recruiters 

The ANC once spoke of decent jobs for South Africans. I think I have identified where such jobs may be found. According to a news report, about R17 million has been paid to suspended government officials, while they relax at home. It doesn't get much more decent than that. 

I am well qualified as I have extensive experience of relaxing at home. Or any other place that I might be required to relax. Some of our heroes have apparently been in this suspended state for more than sixty days. While that's a tough proposition, I am nothing if not persistent and can even kick out for the shores of 365 days. Lockdown has merely enhanced my skills in this discipline. I am willing to relocate anywhere except the Eastern Cape. Apparently the lingering effects of apartheid are most keenly felt there. I have had my unfair share of that particular experiment.

Incidentally, I have no objection to indecent jobs also, provided they pay well and involve fun activities.

I also read once of some city employees who worked twice a week. Something to do with problems with the building. I assume that the building was okay on, say, Tuesdays and Wednesdays. No telling with modern architecture. That sort of job would come in a close second for me. I'm all for work / life balance. The five day work week is vastly overrated anyway.

Should you find a suitable position for me, I plan to apply for paid suspension within the first month. No point in procrastinating. Of course, I trust that the suspension budget is still chubby and healthy.

My CV is attached. Please do not keep me in suspense.

Yours in the struggle for an honest wage.

Richard

Shining Moments

Dear Fellow South Africans 

It seems to be the done thing to publicize one's achievements on social media. Being the shy, retiring type, I've refrained so far. But I believe the hour has now come (I've been queuing for an hour at a cig..., sorry, at Shoprite). 

Just last week I experienced one of my proudest moments. The East Rand Mashonisas Association (ERMA) presented me with the Borrower Of The Year award. This took the  form of an artistically framed IOU certificate. Talk about moving...

I also acquired a PHD certificate. It was a difficult journey. There was sacrifice, hardship and other stuff. I did not shrink from paying the high price this endeavour demanded. Eventually I found the academic  shop I sought in a Germiston side - street. R500 later, I'm humbled and proud to be in the company of such worthies as Dr Ace (honorary PHD in philosophy).

I was also granted an interview by the Primrose Post, a fine community newspaper. My views on the role of social media as a tool of the Enemy Of Mankind were hotly debated in Joe's Bar, a popular gathering place for East Rand intellectuals. 

There was the Neighbour Of The Year Award from Lawrence and Koos on either side of me. Also the Writer Of The Week award from a friend whose keen intellect I value and respect. He is writing the definitive book on Elvis sightings in the Northern Cape. 

Yours in the quest for shining moments.

Richard 

That's Apartheid

To the tune of That's Amore - apologies to Dean Martin

When the stuff hits the fan

Guess who carries the can

It's apartheid 

When a project goes bust 

Budgets crumble to dust 

That's apartheid 

Racists sing ting a ling a ling it's your thing

And you'll sing non colpevole

They will say hell to pay, hell to pay, like some old acapella

Bayadelela

When you're caught with the swag

And the tongues start to wag

That's apartheid 

When you're caught in a lie 

Need a good alibi 

You're in luck

When you're living the dream

But your critics keep grumbling and scheming

Scusami but you see, back in old Mzansi that's apartheid 

Yes apartheid 

Tips for the blogger gratefully accepted 

Capitec Bank, South Africa  

1378565477

O Tichmann 

+27 833970723

Wasted

Dear Fellow South Africans

We are in sh..t.

Walking through our leafy, upmarket East Rand suburb recently, with its upmarket pubs and spaza casinos, watching the alternative chemists at their business, I was reminded of T S Eliot's 'The Waste Land'. Here is a Joburg spin on some of his verses:

Unreal city
This sewage crept by me upon the pavement
And along the road, up old Pretoria Street
Oh City, city, I can sometimes hear
Beside a gambling place in Rietfontein
The ceaseless whining from a TV tune
And a clatter and a chatter from within
Where the desperate play at noon

Unreal city
Dodging the brown stuff on a winter dawn
A crowd flowed over Rietfontein, so many
I had not thought life had undone so many
Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled
And each man fixed his eyes before his feet
(How else to navigate the filthy street?)

I thought then that this river of waste was an apt metaphor for our town. Actually, it's an apt metaphor for our country right now. I read that we have spent billions trying to eradicate the bucket system. We are still up to our necks in the stuff. Small wonder that it seems to permeate our lives. Mad Magazine once jested that South Africa has eleven official languages but can't speak sense in any of them. Well, we certainly can speak cr..p in all of them. Whence comes this epidemic of verbal diarrhoea? Lately we've had people, politicians not backward, calling other people dogs, baboons and other names. A politician was alleged to have encouraged people to commit murder. I hope that's fake news. What enema will rid us of this mine dump of turgid waste? What have we, the nation, been feeding on that we seem to belch forth the foulest waste at every opportunity? We can be so politically correct about pollution of the atmosphere, yet...

Again, Mr Eliot said it:

What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish?

But then again, I suppose one ought to lighten up. Politicians, like demolition experts, cannot really be relied upon to build anything lasting. We, who whine about the politicians, have been known to wreak as much havoc with a single poisonous tweet.

Wipe your hand across your mouth and laugh, said Eliot. Bring on the twenty year old scotch.

Yours in the struggle for a cure for national diarrhoea.

Richard

Full Disclosure

Dear Fellow South Africans 

I have never met the Guptas. With worms and skeletons tumbling out of woodwork and closets, I wish this to be placed on record.

I strongly recommend that a register be made available in every town and village in South Africa for all citizens, legal and illegal aliens and others to declare any Gupta-related interests. Parents and guardians could declare on behalf of minors. Awaking from a troubled dream this morning, in which Halle Berry and Angelina Jolie fought a deadly duel for my affections, I heeded its hidden message to come clean. I now make a full, frank and fearless declaration.

I did see the Guptas once on SABC news but quickly switched to the BBC.

I once rode past an air force runway but did not stop.

I spent only two nights in Dubai and bumped into only one minister- a Methodist, I think.

I have never been to India, as far as I can remember. The Taj Mahal, yes - but that's a Durban restaurant.

Despite several requests, I was never invited to a Gupta function.

I did partake of several refreshing libations at an establishment in the Saxonworld environs, but it was coincidental that I was in the area, my minibus taxi having broken down.

I did once apply for a vacant ministerial post with a recruitment agency, coincidentally also in Saxonworld. I have not heard from the agency and plan to approach the CCMA.

While I am on a roll, let me also declare that I have never frolicked with a political intern, with or without cigars (instructive though that may have been). I have never eaten sushi off anything but a plate. I did once have a puff of an unusual brand of cigarette at a party but did not inhale. (They were playing my favourite song: Waiting To Exhale).

There, having declared all, my only remaining moral dilemma is whether to back Halle or Angelina tonight. 

Yours in the struggle for truth in our time.

Richard 

I Spy

Dear Dr NDZ

Thank you for a marvellous opportunity during this difficult time. I have long wanted to get into the spy game. I am delighted that you have rightly pointed out that it's my responsibility to report people drinking alcohol. Just this morning, I caught my neighbour guzzling a pineapple concoction. Like any conscientious investigator, I had to ensure that my observations were valid. Six glasses later, I had confirmation. I was unable to effect a citzen's arrest at the time, as I was overcome by a strange lethargy. 

I have extensive experience. At school, moved by ethical and moral impulse, I used to shop my smoking fellow students. I would confiscate the evidence and, er, dispose of it. I am happy to conduct tests on any suspicious beverages found in the course of my investigations. Also to ensure that the offending substances are properly disposed of. 

I am negotiating with the Saxonworld Shebeen for office space. Operating from there, my team will be fully equipped to investigate and report on:

Secret imbibers

Secret smokers 

Anyone making negative comments about lockdown regulations 

Curfew breakers 

Other subversive elements 

We are bound to see a dramatic decrease in the serious criminal activity that so bedevils our otherwise happy land. We are driven by patriotism. Can we discuss expense accounts and commissions please.

Yours in the struggle for liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

Richard 

Groundhog Day

Dear Mr Mnangagwa

I am sure that you have heard the story of the man who watched his favourite western several times. In the movie, the hero met an untimely end when his horse plunged over a cliff. Our man watched it again anyway because he hoped it would end differently the next time.

It's been a bit like that for us with Zimbabwe. We were hoping to see something newly scripted. It seems we have the same grainy, old black and white reel. Why would you trudge in the muddy footsteps of the departed one? You know full well where they led.

Sir, no-one ever died from working with other parties to repair the wreckage. Except, perhaps in some banana republics. No-one could accuse Zimbabwe of that. You've got to at least have bananas. Are we perhaps all blind and misled? Perhaps your country is actually a paradise from which so many cross into South Africa because they cannot help but spread the joy and the love.

Hearts with one purpose alone, wrote Yeats,

Through summer and winter 

Seem enchanted to a stone 

To trouble the living stream..

Do you really want to be remembered as yet another millstone around the necks of a weary, weary people? Do we really have to have groundhog day every day in this part of the world?

We are utterly weary of being the ones who lost the bet on the game and then again on the replay. Wouldn't it be inspirational to have out of Africa (south) something new?

Yours in constant hope of being surprised. 

Richard

Alien (2018)

Dear Mr Gigaba 

I am sorely in need of your assistance. You seem to be quite a helpful chap in matters such as the dilemma confronting me.

I have been unable to sleep for a week, tormented by nightmares in which I was deported to Iran. You see, although my parents told me that I was born here and though I have voted several times, i now realise that establishing citizenship is rather more complex than that. I think of the poor fellow who is supposedly registered as a voter, yet the controversy around his citizenship rages on like a long drawn out medieval siege.

My concern is that I cannot say with absolute certainty that I was indeed born in the Rainbow realm. I was rather preoccupied at the time, sucking in lungfuls of air and warding off the unwelcome attentions of sinister persons in green masks and gowns. 

One hates to think that one's parents might have lied but I would equally hate to discover that I have to relocate to somewhere like Japan. The only Japanese I know is from karate classes; something like: 'Senseini, arigato bazai mashta'. Roughly translated as: 'Teacher, thank you for beating the living daylights out of me on the pretext of teaching me to defend myself'. I doubt the usefulness of that particular phrase on the Japanese metro. I am sure that you can relate to my anxiety about this matter. Ever since a teacher remarked that I think like an alien, I have been assailed by nagging doubts. 

Sir, while you chew on my request, a few lines inspired by Sting's 'Englishman In New York' (What the devil were his parents thinking when they named him?).

Don't fly economy, I fly first class

Take off from an air force base

Got connections in the highest place

Don't you dare get in my face. 

See me driving down the avenue

Tender papers in my hand

Take them everywhere I go, 

Get that deal, no matter what it takes

Get that deal, no matter what it takes. 

I'm an alien, a sort of legal alien,

I'm a tycoon in Saxonworld. 

Should you wish to have the entire song (maybe to belt out to the accompanying roar of your blue - light convoy), i can be found at the famous Saxonworld establishment.

Yours in search of citizenship.

Richard 

Tips for the blogger gratefully accepted 

Capitec Bank, South Africa  

1378565477

O Tichmann 

+27 833970723

A New Religion That Will Bring You To Your Knees

Dear New Wave Pastors

As Sunday slipped by, you popped into my mind with that line from Black Velvet.

I don't know what to make of your fascinating perspective on matters of faith.

Are you perhaps filling the comedy gap that some of our departed politicians left? The kindest interpretation I can put on some of your doings is that you have slightly misread some passages. 

'Feed my lambs' did not refer to literally putting your parishioners out to grass. 

To the Crocodile Dundee of the clergy, it's 'trample serpents', not 'sample serpents'. Apparently, your congregants find the flavour to be similar to that of chocolate. Cadbury must be worried. What's your own favourite? Peppermint crisp green mamba, perhaps? In similar vein, your drinking petrol seems to go down as smoothly as Coke. I trust that you yourself set the example by consuming your daily litre. With petrol prices what they are, I hope it's true that you charge an entrance fee to your zo..., sorry, services. By the way, would you recommend 93 or 95 for a really smooth drink? 

To the gentleman who seems quite preoccupied with underwear and related issues, sir, I know of a quiet, restful place in the Eastern Cape where you can find many friends of a similar persuasion.

Then there's the chap who claims to suck things harmful and unwholesome out of women's breasts. What can one say other than: your theology sucks.

Dear alternative pastors, where on God's green earth did you find people willing to follow you down your rabbit holes? Is there a parallel universe into which you cross from time to time? Could you share with us the source of your inspiration? The Good Book is so rich and complex that one may have missed the doctrines of cleansing by insecticide, free - range grazing, being set free by BP and other mysteries. 

Yours in open - mouthed wonder.

Richard 

Tips for the blogger gratefully accepted 

Capitec Bank, South Africa  

1378565477

O Tichmann 

+27 833970723

Play It Again, Sam

I was reading the newspaper headlines flashing by as our minibus taxi cruised at a sedate 140 kilometres per hour. A thought struck me at the same time that our taxi struck a vehicle inconsiderately stopped at a red traffic light.

Life is quite easy for our gentlemen and ladies of the press. They could have a bunch of one - size - fits - all headlines ready to go at any time. DA At Sixes And Sevens would be a sure thing. Any day of the week would be fine for Billions Go Missing. Outrage Over Malema Statement could be a weekly staple (though he has been rather subdued lately, perhaps preoccupied with the state of the banking sector). Afriforum Sues could be followed by Afriforum Sues Again. On the international front, one cannot go wrong with Trump Stirs Up A Hornets' Nest. Heaven knows what they will use if the man should actually stumble on a hornets' nest while out walking. Bafana Woes could be a shoe-in for the sports pages. Should our soccer heroes surprise us with a win over, say, Lesotho, the same headline can be used with the Afrikaans or slang meaning of the second word.

My favourite investigative journal, The Daily Sun, must surely have Tokoloshe Terrifies Township in constant readines, along with Star Moers Neighbour and Zombie Runs Amok. On a slow day, they could probably do Tokoloshe And Zombie Run Riot. 

We've been kept well informed on Covid statistics. I suggest the same be done for the kleptopandemic ravaging the land. Perhaps a daily table along the lines of:

  Projects gone belly up             Rxxx

  Tenders from hell                     Rxxx

  Food parcels                             Rxxx

  Redeployed (see note)            Rxxx

  Legacy heists (last 10 years) Rxxx

* Note: redeployed = broad category encompassing brazen theft, fraud, mismanagement, waste etc, etc, etc.                            

While we may not flatten that curve anytime soon, it would surely be an eye-opener to trace its shape. Perhaps that of a rainbow (sans pot of gold).

Bifokol

Dear Fellow South Africans 

Here we go again. No water, no power, no leadership. Deja vu. 

The last waterless spell we went through had me thinking: a metaphor for our national life. Many are dirt poor, some are filthy rich and many are just plain dirty. Thank God we don't have to rely on an Airkom for oxygen.

Of course, of hot air there is no shortage. At the time, a debate of great national importance was taking place in parliament. It was about the meaning of the word 'fokol'. I am sure that most South Africans are delighted that our legislators spend time and tax rands on what really matters - fokol.

Most South Africans could quite easily explain what the word means. We've had it for many years. We'd love to share it with you, dear MPs and ministers. Shakespeare summed it up in King Lear: 'from fokol, fokol comes'. The last eight or nine years have taught us that. That is all that you need to know and can we now move on from fokol? Or can you move on?

Yours in the struggle for something, anything, more substantial than fokol.

Richard

Contagion

Dear Mr President

I have felt the  cold touch, the slimy tentacles of that bloated octopus called corruption. Just this morning, a sinister message slithered onto the screen of my cellphone: 'SanDisk Corrupted'. So it's come this far. I have tried to keep myself as pure as the Volk did in days of old but corruption now stares me impudently in the face.

In the shower, while humming a half-remembered folk song about a machine gun and briefly contemplating the meaning of life, I  wrestled with the problem.

Sir, this is now in the nature of a second pandemic. The guys in white hats are overwhelmed. The corrupt rampage like an army of orcs. Even Al Capone starts to look like a cherubic choir boy by comparison. Lately, I have been checking the household trash daily for fear that it might be stolen. I don't know if we have sufficient room to quarantine the carriers of this contagion.

Your response has to be proportionate if we hope to have a country left. I suggest a team composed of real detectives, auditors (excluding KPMG - their name is too complicated), SARS experts and reformed racketeers (set a food parcel thief to catch a food parcel thief). Clerical work and research can be done by the many people now unemployed. I'm sure that the unit would pay for itself in recoveries. Everybody leaves a paper trail, don't they? Sir, for a small consideration, I would be happy to act as a consultant. Having read lots of best-sellers on crime and espionage, you might say I've been in training for such a time as this. As the FF Plus pointed out in one of their election posters, the time has come to 'slaan terug'. After all, it's not as if these villains are the Einsteins of crime.

Yours in the struggle against suffocating corruption.

Richard

Fresh Meandos (In Support Of Mr Zuma)

Recalling Mr Zuma's contribution to language

Dear Mr Zuma

You used, indeed coined, the word 'meandos' during a parliamentary debate and endured some scandalous mockery.

Sir, this is so unfair. People clamour for leaders to be creative. You were wonderfully creative with numbers. Now you have moved on to words; a natural, logical progression. Besides, meandos is a fine word, vowels and consonants all in the right places. Most importantly, the word does exist.

In the dim recesses of the history section of the Germiston library (where I suspect that things other than  reading are done), I found an account by the explorer Gonzales, of his journey through the Amazon. I quote:

"We sat cross-legged on the  floor of a native hut and partook of the repast which they generously provided. It consisted of a not unpalatable game stew and a fruit hitherto unknown to us. Leathery of skin, with an insubstantial, pulpy mass within, the natives called the fruit meandos. It is found at the very top of the giant meandos tree and served on high ceremonial occasions. I am resolved to present this strange fruit to Her Majesty, as well as the green leaves which the natives set on fire and inhale. Indeed, on following the native custom, I was filled with unaccustomed mirth at the sight of Sergeant Nunez's bulbous nose. Doubtless, Her Majesty will be much amused...."

There you are, Mr President. Should anyone again fling meandos at you, you can hurl them back with gay abandon.

Yours in the quest for fresh meandos.

Richard 

Tips for the blogger gratefully accepted 

Capitec Bank, South Africa  

1378565477

O Tichmann 

+27 833970723

Nightmare On Fir Avenue, Germiston

Dear Mr Mboweni

We have something in common. I read that you have fiscal nightmares. I, too, have fiscal nightmares.

Just last night I dreamt that I was facing a firing squad of mashonisas and bank managers. Their AK47s had full clips. I waited desperately for a last minute reprieve in the form of a call from VBS. A call came. It was Bill Clinton, wanting to know if my last request included a good cigar. He had a Cohiba left over from a staff meeting of long ago. I woke with the thunderous crashing of gunfire echoing in my head. To my consternation, it continued. It turned out to be my neighbour, practising for the weekend. No problem there, after a change of clothes.

Sir, you once said that we are standing at a crossroads.  That's because we've run out of fuel. But all is not lost, sir. There's plenty of fat of the land for your beleaguered treasury. Just follow the paper trail to the black marketers who now owe a fortune in taxes. May I refer you to the movie 'The Untouchables' for some guidelines. I'm sure that our politicians and assorted civil sevants also stand ready to make sacrifices in these terrible, difficult times. How much fat lies hidden in those perks that make no sense when the land lies waste. I would suggest slashing those tons of blubber with a really good flensing knife. KFC will survive.

I did suggest a national stokvel some time ago. You ignored my suggestion and, no doubt, now regret it. I am still willing to contribute an extra R10 per month to my already burdensome taxes. I should think that economies of scale and compound interest would make the thing workable. I leave the details to you, sir. I expect to be among the first paid out (my idea).

Mr Mboweni, without swift action, your last resort may be those alternative economists who advertise the services of short boys and rats. Who knows? They may well have the answers, unorthodox as their financial instruments and practices are. After all, we cannot unmake this mess with the same thinking that got us into it, can we?

Yours in the struggle for fiscal fluidity.

Richard

Tips for the blogger gratefully accepted 

Capitec Bank, South Africa  

1378565477

O Tichmann 

+27 833970723

And Whether Pigs Have Wings

Dear Marketers, Hustlers And Others

Can we agree on some rules so that I don't have to dig for long forgotten adjectives whenever I receive your calls or your mails.

Please don't begin any message with the word congratulations unless it's accompanied by a handsome cash deposit. I'm sure someone somewhere is thrilled to know that he or she just might be approved to be a finalist in some obscure competition to win an ant farm or a truckload of toilet paper. It's just not me. I can just picture the scene and some remote Libyan desert village. " Ibrahim, Ibrahim" he calls to his neighbour, excitedly brandishing his cell phone. "I'm  a finalist in the South African 'Win A Shi.., sorry, Truckload Of Toilet Paper' competition.
"Wonderful, my friend. Congratulations."

Incidentally, I can be monumentally stupid about some things but I do know that I at least have to enter a competition to have any chance of winning anything. Please, can we just drop that line of hustle. We South Africans can smell a con all the  way from a neighbouring state. We've had practice. We've been bulldusted by the best. For years. Mainly in government and politics. We know a flying pig when we see one.

To the guys with very English names and thick Eastern European accents, if your binary trading robot has an 85 percent success rate, what the dickens are you doing in such a crummy job? Making futile phone calls to penniless people like me.Who, in his right mind, would fork out a thousand dollars  (US, no less) on the say so of Henry Pendleton, who is clearly from Nizhny Tagil?

I am now terrified of flying. According to emails that I receive with monotonous regularity about 20 gentlemen with my surname have crashed in remote corners of the earth, leaving vast fortunes which I can share in if.... Will I be next? And I don't even have a fortune to leave.

Fellas, let me sum it up. I cannot afford a holiday at your plush, plane- fares-not-included locations. I cannot afford a trading account, latest-does-everything-but-cook cellphone, insurance or membership of your exclusive, mysterious wealth-creation club or whatever other pixie dust you are selling.

Want to make my day? Show me the money. Cut the...

Yours in the fight for economic freedom.

Richard

A Beautiful Mind

Dear Mr Shivambu

You once stated that the EFF uses superior logic. I suppose that compared to the stuff that's currently oozing out of the legislature, that's not a stretch.

Of course, it's a little difficult to judge the validity of your statement. So much of your communication has been of the non-verbal, tactile variety. One would have to review the video footage. Was a klap just then a more logical response than a kick? Would a flanking movement have yielded better results than a full frontal attack? Was a high - heeled shoe the most appropriate close-quarters weapon?

While we try to resolve these, let's acknowledge that your commander in chief certainly shows flashes of brilliance in the sphere of mental agility- even gymnast-like dexterity. He was once allegedly  willing to kill for Zuma. Later to die for Zuma. I think he omitted the word 'myself '. Who hasn't made that sort of minor slip? Even Neil Armstrong, in the  excitement and drama of a similar historic moment, omitted a little indefinite article. Does anyone go on about that? Still,  the logic cannot be faulted. Dying does tend to follow killing.

The ruling party could certainly have benefited from your beautiful mind during this crisis. Their logic: shut down cigarette sales and some 11 million smokers will cease and desist. We are not Americans, so a prohibition-era  type black market won't develop here. Al Capone is long gone anyway. Some merit in that. I have not bought a pack of those nasties from a shop since (after all, I'm a law-abiding, addicted citizen). Just the odd fag at oil prices. Lost taxes? That's what IMF and BRICS loans are for.

Yours in the love of logic and dialectical materialism.

Richard

Just Cause

Dear Fellow South Africans

For many years now I've been trying to find ways to make additional income. To keep my creditors, if not happy, at least slightly mollified.

Scammers and dreamers abounded.  Network marketers, to the strains of Simply The Best, waxed lyrical about passive income. Months later, I discovered what passive income really meant. A dodo would have been frenetically active by comparison.

I considered alternative business activities but mugging and related disciplines require skills and equipment I don't have. Also an absence of that inconvenient thing called conscience. Mine's elastic but not sufficiently so. I considered an online appeal for research funds. Atypical transient global amnesia wreaks havoc among our politicians and those attending various commissions of inquiry. Alas, people are inordinately suspicious and would cry 'scam'. Can't understand this prevalence of cynicism in our country.

Then a solution hit me like a snotklap from a colourfully clad MP.  Lawsuits are trending. R500 000 seems to be the going rate. I think we could push that brown envelope closer to the magical million mark. I think the EFF's legal fund might be a little light.  Mr Zuma and the public protector may be in a similar situation. But the president. Now there's a war chest if stories are to be believed. One must be strategic. That's what got me where I am.

I should think any legal eagle worth his or her iodized salt should be able to dig something up over a weekend. Is it not for such an hour that such deliciously broad concepts as 'mental anguish' and 'loss of opportunity' were created? Dear fellow  South Africans, I am seeking  pro deo (or preferably pro mio) counsel. Rather urgently. We can discuss administrative fees upon successful conclusion.

Yours in the struggle for comp..., er, justice.

Richard

Bank Shot

2018

Dear VBS Bank

You are my kind of bank. I've long been seeking a bank with an open-handed, unselfish approach to sharing of product.

You do still have money, don't you? I won't be needing as much as some who reportedly benefited from your generosity. Just a fraction - say three quarters. I'm quite happy to join any political party if that's a requirement - even COPE ( they are still around, aren't they?). I do also have relatives who are members of various parties I'm even willing to start a party if necessary (never was a slouch at partying). Many companies give product samples and it's most encouraging to see you step out of the old rigid banking paradigm into the Brave New World of Commerce.

I am not seeking a handout. Of course, if a handout boosts your BBBEE scores, then who am I to stand in the way of radical economic transformation - or any other transformation? I am willing to be, as others were, a middleman in introducing your services to some heavy hitters. My neighbours, Lawrence  and  Koos,  are top-scoring batsmen for our local cricket team.

After making some purchases to meet basic needs, I would invest the balance in a savings account at your bank. No Lamborghinis or helicopters for me. I am content with a basic Mercedes sports car. Perhaps a week or two in a lower-end five-star establishment in Dubai. I hope that my frugal, thrifty approach meets with  your approval. These are difficult times after all. Even the 'don't drink and drive' slogan has become redundant. Who the Dickens can afford both? Apart from some of your stakeholders, that is.

With both Black Friday and Christmas almost upon us the time is opportune (I read that one of your middle people 'asked for a Christmas'). Like Barkis, I am  willing. I trust that our partnership will be as fruitful as the orchards of that province where you seem to have done your best work.

Yours in the persistent pursuit of radical economic transformation.

Richard

The Customer Is ..er, King

Dear South African Business

It's month-end.  Two adjoining ATMs belonging to one of our banks are out of order. The horrific lockdown - induced queues are worse than ever. The remaining ATM in another part of the mall grinds to a sudden halt at customer number twenty-five. And this is one of our top banks. 

I don't know where South African businesses heard the rumour that we just love to queue for hours on end. We are losing productivity. Who knows how much your average councillor turned food parcel retailer could have made in the time wasted in queues? I amused myself with silly questions. Did the bank know that the ATMs were down? When? Do they know how to fix them? And ....? 

The customer is clearly not king in South Africa. Not even a distant relative at the court. 

In the same mall, I went to spend a penny at a public toilet whose entrance was designed by the architects who did Alcatraz. Two rands actually. Had I known beforehand, I wouldn't have gone in for free. Do our business people attend the same business schools as the government people? 

I suspect that we're not that far behind the best when it comes to customer service. Maybe just a quarter of a century. Shouldn't be too much of a stretch. I'm sure those inspired visions and values are in place already - on the walls.

Yours in the arduous quest for the South African equivalent of Nordstrom.

Richard

 

Taxi Driver

Dear Fellow South Africans

Now that the price of fuel is rapidly eclipsing that of gold and platinum, you may be contemplating using public transport.

I feel duty bound to provide a basic guide to the use of minibus taxis. Now if you thought Robert de Niro was something else in Taxi Driver, wait until you meet our guys. I think Robert did his research right here in Johannesburg. That's where he got his famous line: 'You talkin' to me?' If he had dug deeper, he would have learnt such traditional greetings as 'fuseki' and 'msu...  we...a'.  I don't know what the latter means but I assume it's a cheery greeting along the lines of 'Have a nice day'.  Delivered in a New York accent, it would have spiced up the dialogue considerably. 

But, to business! Before you take the front seat in a minibus Taxi, make sure your math is better than that of a former head of state. Or the reputed woodwork scores of a popular politician. You become the taxi bookkeeper, unopposed. On a good day, you are responsible for the fares of sixteen people. On a bad day .... thirty? Heaven help you if the books don't balance.

Try not to tender more than R50 in Taxi fare. Drivers are intensely superstitious about carrying change. You could find yourself alone on a dark Joburg street that looks like something out of the set of Mad Max.

Don't be perturbed if the driver answers your questions with a grunt or two. That's about as communicative as the average Jozi minibus Taxi driver gets. He may be one of those of whom his colleagues say: 'Gumede's a good bloke but he talks too much'.

If you choose the back seat of the taxi, you need to have the slender shape of a sixties model. The back seats of minibus taxis are God's revenge on us for what we do to sardines. Make sure that you empty your pockets of whatever you need before you get wedged in. It's mortifying to be scratching for change and have a lady yell: 'Stop touching my thighs!' Worse if it's a man yelling.

Do make sure that you have something interesting to read or view during the journey. That is, unless you're the sort of masochist who loves watching his life flash before his eyes - several times.

Enjoy the ride.

Richard

Tips for the blogger gratefully accepted 

Capitec Bank, South Africa  

1378565477

O Tichmann 

+27 833970723

Wisdom

Unlike tobacco and alcohol (note to Mr Cele and Ms Dlamini-Zuma), this book will have a positive effect on rampant crime - and other bad stuff.

Has been known to alleviate acne, bad breath and erectile dysfunction - taken with appropriate herbal remedies, of course.

Distills the wisdom of the ages (the ages between one and four). 

Costs only four dollars US (previously Zim).  About half goes to Charity - for the loan I took from her last year. 

I need to sell only 999 999 more books to get to a million. 

Wait, there's more.....

https://www.amazon.com/Richard--J-Mann/e/B085P3QPMH?ref_=pe_1724030_132998060