Inspirational Mr Kodwa

 Dear Mr Kodwa

I was inspired by your presentation. I caught the programme a bit late and assumed that you were giving a motivational talk on tackling tough times. I noticed that several prominent people, including a judge, were listening intently.

What really caught my attention was your account of snagging a not insignificant loan despite being in an unstable job. Importantly, this was a no-strings-or-elastic-bands-attached arrangement. My faith in the inherent goodness, kindness and generosity of people has been restored.There's hope for me. I have no job, stable or unstable. Still, using your shrewd argument, I believe we can do this. We? I'm hoping that, with your experience and contacts, you can connect me to a philanthropist.

I would also pay once in a stable job. Should that not happen in my lifetime, it's not a train smash. I'm willing to turn over my assets after departure to destinations eternal. I list them here for transparency:

6 pairs of pants

8 shirts

1 hardly - used suit

Assorted underwear and socks

4 potential bestsellers on the Kindle bookshelf. I've sold 8 copies in total but we know that many writers are recognised only after shuffling off the old mortal coil. Who knows what treasure may lie there?

Sir, could we meet for lunch (if you could see your way clear to...er. the bill thing..).

Yours in the struggle for stability.

Richard 

South African Cyborg

 Dear Mr Musk

The News And Weather channel tells me that you plan to save mankind. I'm all for saving mankind.

Your sci-fi like plan to implant chips in the human head had me riveted. I stopped implanting chips in my stomach in order to listen closely. You see artificial intelligence as a potential threat to humankind. In South Africa, it's the lack of intelligence, artificial or otherwise, that threatens us. Particularly in the rarified atmosphere in which our movers and shakers move and shake.

Nevertheless sir, I have a proposition. I'm willing to be a test pilot, for the sake of humanity, vorsprung durch technik and all those other lekker things. I do this gratis. My only condition is that the chip enable me to beat the lotto and various casino games. This would surely be a worthy test. Also a resounding defeat for one area of AI that's been walloping mankind for far too long. Surely, success will convince even the most sceptical among us. 

After a month of lucr.., sorry, intense research and trialling, I would return your chip. What could be more inspirational than having a South African test-drive a brilliant initiative by a South African born innovator?

I can see the EFF ground forces marching in support and celebration.

I am an excellent candidate, as discretion is my middle - no my first - name. I would keep to myself any winni..., I mean, intellectual property information. Like some South African politicians, I didn't do particularly well at Math 

Except for algebra, which is surely the most mathematical way of stating the obvious. What else could a + b be but a + b? The point is: if I can crack the jackpot with your technology, what can we / you not achieve?

Ready when you are, sir.

Yours in the struggle to boldly go where none has gone before.

Richard 

Vaccines

 Dear Fellow South Africans 

It is an established fact that the EFF uses superior logic. Floyd said so. To the best of my knowledge, he was sober at the time. I am sure that they applied their beautiful minds in logical fashion to the vaccine issue.

I am solidly behind their cause (the same position I usually take during marches). They must have mulled over, masticated and digested some of these indisputable arguments.

1. Who can make vodka like the Russians? I suspect that the whole cold war thing stemmed from American envy. Prohibition was nothing but a cunning plot by those decadent warmongers to harm the vodka trade. Making vaccines involves playing around with bacteria or viruses, weakening them etc. Making vodka involves playing around with microorganisms in yeast. What's the big deal? In fact, vodka - making is more complex, with the added challenge of finding suitable potatoes. 

I could make these things myself (vaccines), with the help of Google, were it not that I've been so busy.

2. I believe that the West has imbued the process with mystery. All the  scientific mumbo jumbo is designed to shut out the people. It's the wicked profit motive gone rampant.

3. The Chinese came up with gunpowder, kung fu and acupuncture ages ago. What has the West given us, apart from KFC, medical discoveries, engineering achievements, technological advances and some other stuff? Nothing, I tell you. Democracy, you say. Well, that doesn't work. In South Africa.

Even the vaccine names tell you something. Pfizer sounds like an effervescent solution for digestive problems. Sputnik has an earthy, of - the - people, feet - on - the - ground flavour. I am sure that the Chinese vaccine has a name people can identify with. Something like Heavenly Balm For Eternal, Harmonious Wellbeing.

4. A last, telling point. I have not seen a single sick 

Russian or Chinese person in South Africa.

Having made the case, I'm happy to take questions on my return from a march.

Yours in the struggle against conspiracies.

Richard 

Fleas

 Dear Mr Gigaba 

A news report quoted you as follows:

“I knew Mr Ajay and there are many people that we all know, and many get involved in wrongdoing and knowing a person doesn’t make you complicit in their wrongdoing if they are involved in wrongdoing.”

This strikes a powerful chord with me. An innocent friendship I had was twisted into something ugly. May I share.

I drove some friends to a bank in a powerful, supercharged vehicle. I was delighted to see them comply with health regulations as they pulled on balaclavas and masks. If they had weapons I didn't see them. It was a dangerous neighbourhood anyway.

They returned with bags stuffed with cash. Surely this is normal practice for business people making a withdrawal. I heard of a similar method of carrying cash, used by some powerful people in South Africa. Just can't recall the details.

I did see some of the staff lying on the floor while my friends were inside. I assumed that this was one of those new-fangled business things - power naps or Being Present

As we departed, the police came rushing by, sirens blaring. It was near closing time, but I think the siren thing may be abuse of state equipment.

Ludicrous stories about my involvement in a bank robbery circulated later. Hurtful and bewildering. So easy to be caught in a web of suspicion and speculation. Sir, I empathise.

It is not necessarily true that if one lies down with dogs, one wakes with fleas. Sometimes one wakes with ticks, er,  sorry, that's not where I was going. I'm sure you catch my drift anyway.

Yours in the struggle against cynicism.

Richard 

Tips for the blogger gratefully accepted 

Capitec Bank, South Africa  

1378565477

O Tichmann 

+27 833970723

48 Weeks

 In a TV series called 48 Hours, American detectives set about trying to solve murders, or at least get leads, within a 48 hour window.

It's hard, patient slog. Interviewing potential 

witnesses, using science and technology, piecing the evidence together, following leads. I admire their persistence, dogged determination and work ethic. No nuclear physics or magic there.

Imagine a similar series in South Africa. 48 Weeks would be a good working title.

Week1

We meet detectives Tom, Dick and Harry hard at work. Picking their way through the pieces, they finally lay bare the bones of the KFC meal. 

'My ten years of experience tell me that there's a strong possibility of foul play."

 

Sergeant Dick lays out the 200 semi-automatic shells on the table.

"Clearly the shooter or shooters were SANDF - trained."

Detectives Tom and Harry raise quizzical eyebrows.

"200 Shots. Not one hits the target. The man died of a heart attack."

Week 13

We find the detectives working methodically at a Nandos meal. 

"Any progress, guys?"

"Yes. Our stolen vehicle's been found. Just the docket missing."

Week 26

"What have we got, guys?"

"A mutton bunny from Gora's."

"No, on the case "

" No-one's come forward to confess yet. Our only witness has moved to Zimbabwe. Harry's out on the decuplet case."

Week 36

Still working doggedly, our detectives have unravelled the mystery of what's at the bottom of the tightly stuffed kotas.

"Good news. We got the ballistics report. It was a semi-automatic. Only a few thousand in the country. The docket turned up in a bin. Just needs some cleaning up. Any luck with the decuplets, Harry?"

Shake of the head. 

Week 48

"Don't give up lads. Something will come up. The good news is that I'm off on leave tomorrow. Hang in there. Pass the chips."

Pushing Garbage

 Are advertisers dumb? Or do they, like many politicians, assume that we are dumb? The garbage from both parties seems to come from the same kitchen.

Still, fun to ponder on if you need an escape from the ANC / EFF / Whats Their Name reality show (the one that makes the Kardashians look like intellectual giants).

If we go by the ads, most of South Africa's problems can be solved by certain brands of bread, booze and over - the - counter pharmaceuticals. Still, I'm willing to give it a shot. I'll bring some loaves to the next EFF or MKMVA march. And some KFC.

 

'Do you own your skin?', asks one ad. I thought I did, until the question came up. At least on a three score and ten year lease. Is this also covered by Expropriation Without Compensation? Apparently my skin determines how courageous and loving I am. And here I was thinking I might be lacking in moral fibre. It's just a skin problem. Slap on some lotion and bingo! Please send crates to all South African politicians and civil servants.

 "Have you ever been turned down for a funeral?" read one on Facebook. 

Well, that's a bit difficult to answer. I haven't had need of one - yet. It's going to be harder to answer when I do need one. I don't think it will be my problem anyway.

How about some gritty, relevant ads that reflect our reality.

Here's an example:

Camera lingers on Fred, enjoying a sundowner on his porch, lovingly stroking the shiny, metallic surface of his new acquisition. Voice over:

'Are you afraid that your ten foot electrified fence and pack of Dobermans won't keep you safe? Fear no more. The Gatling 20M will shred everything within a hundred square metres."

 

"I used to fear the Gauteng sunsets." Fred smiles. "No more."

Fires a practice burst.

 "Cheers."

Now that's a realistic advertisement.

Whatever Happened To Baby Jane...and Baby Joe and...

 I am with Piet Rampedi.

The simple truth is that, in South Africa, things disappear. Millions, billions and trillions disappear. Police dockets disappear. An air - walking pastor disappears. A friend's first pension payout disappeared. Grown criminals disappear. At the Zondo Commission memory disappears. What is so unusual about ten babies disappearing?

Once more, the deceitful WMC press tries to distract us. Instead of focusing on the real issue, they denigrate Mr Rampedi. The real issue, of course, is: what is causing the mysterious disappearences? The possibilities are many. I would cast an eye in the general direction of Stellenbosch. A veritable viper's nest of strange and unnatural activities, according to my sources in the RET (no, not that RET; the Relevant Events Trackers) WhatsApp group. Pravin Gordhan, that shadowy manipulator, would be a person of interest too.

Mr Rampedi has been accused of lowering journalistic standards. Not possible. That was done long ago. Just watch certain TV stations and peruse back issues of some newspapers. At any rate, this was as good a story as any I've read in my favourite zombie and tokoloshe hunting publication. A story pregnant with possibilities.

Cynics may ask why the journalist didn't see the babies first. Here's the perfectly reasonable answer, quoted from a news report.

' “In our cultural beliefs, babies and pregnancies are very fragile things. We usually don’t like focusing [on] and disclosing such things, especially now that these babies are premature and still in incubators,” Mathapelo told local broadcaster Enca at the time, when the news anchor asked her when the world would get to see the babies.'

And now, see what's happened. They were right to be cautious.

Bushiri

 Dear Shepherd Bushiri 

With today being Sunday, my mind gravitated to matters spiritual. 

I'm trying to choose between you and Brother Alph Lukau. Tough choice. Bro Alph has brought at least one person back from the other side. He shattered the myth that you only live once.

You apparently claimed that you can walk on air. Is that how you evaded the South African authorities? South African Airways could have benefited from your expertise. Some cynics maintain that evading the South African police falls far short of the miraculous. I believe you. if I owned four private planes and other expensive goodies, I'd also be walking on air. Just curious as to how you deal with turbulence.

Some say that you are a wolf in shepherd's clothes. Still, there's clear evidence of the miraculous at work. Charges of rape, fraud and other less than sheperdly doings follow you. Yet thousands of followers pour their hard-earned cash into your miraculous enterprises. And hang on to your every syllable. I struggle to gain a hundred followers on Twitter. 

In an interview, you blamed racism for negative comments and perceptions. That's a new one.

ECG is an interesting acronym for your church. What would an ecg test reveal about its spiritual heart? No doubt the finances are healthy. You should consider just calling your cul..., sorry, brand of faith 'Bushiri'. It's all about you. Echoes of the Japanese bushido code. You are, after all, a sort of mystic ninja.

Yours in the spiritual struggle. 

Richard 

Tips for the blogger gratefully accepted 

Capitec Bank, South Africa  

1378565477

O Tichmann 

+27 833970723

Pap

I understand how the Pan African Parliament got the name 'pap'.

I listened to a radio broadcast of the proceedings. A cacophony; swearing, yells in several languages - sounds of the average shebeen in full Friday night swing.

'Let me explain how we got here', said the reporter. No need, madam. It is the familiar 'tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying', in the elegant phrasing of our own parliamentarians, 'fokol'.

The same happens at the AU, we were told. That's alright then. Comforting. I learnt that the pap is an organ of the AU. If the AU were a person, it would probably be an organ situated somewhere to the rear. Judging by the sounds.

The previous chairman, according to our reporter, wanted to continue his influence through his chosen one. 'He wants to rule from the grave.' Mr Malema could probably help him with that.

The uproar seemed to centre on getting a clerk to read a letter. What horrendous challenges the politicians face on this continent. They need our prayers.

Also influencing from the grave were those omnipresent colonialists. We were told that language and colonialism influenced voting. The French speaking bloc sticks together. As does the English speaking bloc. You just can't keep a dead colonialist down.

Throughout the bedlam, a lone voice called out repeatedly: "Call the police."

Hugo, bel die polisie.