The Clothes Off Our Backs

 Dear Mr Cele 

Two South African businessmen walk gingerly down a steaming, hot Durban sidewalk in their Calvin Klein undies (shorts, for our American friends).

"They got you too, Mark", says one, briefcase arm dangling uselessly.

"Took my bloody cricket tie, too", Mark mumbles disconsolately.

"At least they left you your socks. Sodding pavement burns like a stove".

Mark fishes a water bottle out of his Calvins. 

"They missed this", he says brightening a little. "Congratulated me on being so well, er, you know..."

His companion politely declines the proffered drink.

You read it here first. The next trending criminal fad. And who do you have to thank,  jingled the merry advert. After public funds, cash in transit, cellphones, pensioners' pittances and even solar panels off roofs, what will be left to steal but the clothes off people's backs? Clothes in Transit heists. But be of good cheer, we do know who is ultimately responsible  - WMC, Stratcom, apartheid and that old devil in Dutch garb, Jan Van Frigging Riebeeck. I'm sure that the EFF will be laying a charge at the nearest, unrobbed police station.

Just last night, our local library was robbed of every computer used by students and others. I don't have to tell you what the chances are of their being replaced anytime soon. Or of the thieves being collared. Rocket Boy will stop playing with his toys first. The only things left to consider were:

1 Why would they leave such great titles as Think And Grow Rich, Gangster State and Jacob Zuma Speaks?

2  Good of the librarians not to deprive us of that 'Aha' moment, as we surveyed the devastation in the computer room. A word or written notice at the entrance would have utterly ruined that delightful moment. A fascinating aspect of South African service, this variation on caveat emptor  - 'let the customer guess'. I once spent a day and a night at a bus stop, because the municipality didn't want to ruin the surprise by posting bus times. Okay, that is a slight exaggeration. Like saying that the ANC is corrupt through and through.

3 Was the municipality too cheap to install burglar bars and an alarm system?

I feel embarrassed for you, Mr Cele. Juxtapose this City of Gotham-like mayhem against the viral pictures and videos of our police officers in various states of sweet repose. You must be sitting bolt upright at midnight, huge, crazy, cartoon eyes staring into the darkness. Or when your finest confuse cyanide and sinusitis, though that confusion is somewhat understandable. I knew a chap who had severe sinusitis. Identical symptoms to cyanide poisoning: difficulty breathing, seizures, unconsciousness - all except the cardiac arrest. That happened when he was hijacked for the third time, outside a police station. Rest, sir. Leave it to some tough, experienced policeman. Sweet though your theories were about tattoos, alcohol, gqom music and population growth, they mean stuff-all with a big F in the real, cruel, savage world that is South Africa today. You are bewildered and overwhelmed. We understand. It's tough here for a philosopher-celebrity-fashionista. Let us quote to you the comforting words of the bard:

"Thou thy worldly task hast done,

Home art gone and ta'en thy wages"

And bloody good wages they are too, for jetting around the country, dispensing other-worldly wisdom.

Sir, pardon me for adapting a quote from a plum-in-mouth neocolonialist:

"This is not Little-Puddling On The Marsh."

This is bloody, bloody South Africa. And it's getting worse. This for you and  many, many of your comrades, to quote another of those hated Brits:

You have sat too long here for any good you have been doing. In the name of God, go.

Yours in the struggle to awake from sweet slumber.

Richard 

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The Ruin Of A Great House

When the brutal tyrant fled in terror to parts unknown, he left behind a great house, splendid orchards and fields and even treasures beneath the rich soil.

Oh, you bet there was rejoicing in the streets. Ale overflowing in taverns. Neighbour shouting to neighbour. Singing, dancing. All was splendour and joy unbounded.

And the speeches were grand as the  ballads of the poets.

"No more shall the sound of weeping be heard in this our land. No more the terror of the hand raised to strike or the knife to wound. Every man and woman shall have peace and joy at their labours and in their homes. The young child and the aged  shall know peace and be cherished. This place of rivers, mountains and green fields shall be an inheritance for generations to come. And this great house. We shall rule with wisdom. Justice and compassion will be our guides. This is our pledge."

Then, a rainbow in the sky and many took it for a sign.

From the east and the north came many, fleeing from tyranny and every misery that the curse of evil rulers brought in the lands 'east of Eden'. And the stewards of the land welcomed them, saying:

"This is a large land and you shall live and labour with us in peace."

But there came also thieves, murderers and vagabonds of every sort. Seeking to hide themselves among the people, they took new names and wives. And many a Lerato Ndlovu sauntered through the land, doing whatsoever their hearts desired. But the stewards, stars in their eyes,  paid little heed, 

Slowly, ever so slowly, came the ruin of the great house, the orchards and the fields. Even as a frog is boiled. The fruit trees were hewn down for firewood. Smoke and ash swirled over the cornfields. In the house, where the stewards sat at gallons of wine, mounds of KFC and power drinks from spaza merchants, the young people and the guests, invited and uninvited,  did as they pleased. Forgotten the grand speeches and the fine promises. Gone the fine linens and the precious things.  And out of cracks and holes crawled the vermin. Slowly at first, feelers and whiskers testing the dank air. Then boldly, fat, insolent and swaggering. Still the stewards ate, drank, quarrelled and mused upon moonbeams. Forgotten were the young child and the aged, walking in fear, dread and hunger. And of the inheritance for generations to come, was spoken not a word. 

Appeals to decency and compassion fell upon ears clogged with the fat of the land. Indeed, the persons of the stewards shone so with fat, that people crossed the streets and shielded their eyes for fear of being blinded.

And as the house stank of decay and urine in corners, the vermin sat at meat like masters of the dwelling. And the stewards quarrelled over bedrooms and the last KFC drumstick. And in the house were found dead men's bones, some said to have done themselves mischief, having many knife wounds about their backs.

Then those who cared for the great house and the lands made an alliance. But, all too soon, they fell to quarreling over every inconsequential thing that the mind of man can devise. And they, too, became as of no consequence.

In the house, the vermin scurried to and fro, rats with bulging eyes and cheeks, and other loathsome creatures.  And the stewards lay supine, sated with food and drink, dreaming of great cities and castles in the skies.

Then some inquired of wise men:  "What is to be done?"

"Five years",  they replied. "To rebuild. To cleanse every nook and cranny of vermin. And those within must seek other lodging. For as long as they remain, so long continues the decay."

But the people knew that, until the last leaf withered on the fruit tree, until the last brick crumbled into dust, until the last ear of corn was blasted, the stewards would stand fast. For that is the curse of gluttony and greed. The raging thirst for power drinks. The curse of this great, dark continent.

This the wise counsellors saw. And they could but recall the words of the book:

"And great was the fall of that house".

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Power And Corruption

Dear Mr Mbalula 

So Mr De Ruyter is the prince of darkness. Quite ironic then, that he is  departing the Place Of Darkness.

In the calm, restrained, thoughtful manner that we have come to expect from you and the comrades, you reportedly called him a racist and a 'right wing'. (This obsession with the right wing in your circles, does it have anything to do with the fondness for KFC?). A lesser politician would have blurted out accusations in fury, panicked denial or all of the above. Not you sir, the calm, rational moon voyager. When you start out this way, it makes all that you say that much more believable.  You could be a model for one of those corporate training videos on conflict handling,

The ANC is not corrupt, you advised us. Why would anyone think that? I am relieved that you cleared up that little misconception. You see, there's some misleading information about.

In 2015, the sum of 700 billion rands was mentioned. Consumed in the fiery furnace of greed. There was much debate about the numbers. 20% - 25% of GDP is apparently often used. I  think this is erroneous.

There is a joke about a South African civil servant impressed by the wealth of his counterpart in a foreign country. His host shows him, from a high vantage point, a beautiful four-lane highway snaking through the jungle.

'See that project? Ten percent off the top'

During the reciprocal visit, the now fabulously wealthy South African civil servant takes his visitor to a viewing point on a mountain. Below them, as far as the eye can see, is bush. 

"See that project? One hundred percent off the top."

Our guys don't play. 

But the ANC is not corrupt. Mr Mbalula said so. And Mr Mbalula is an 

honourable man and so are they all, all honourable men and women. (Apologies Bill). So it could not be the ANC. Someone else did this under their noses. And the State Capture Commission was just an expensive joke. Ah, the jolly humour of the comrades.

There is mention of 1.5 trillion redeployed between 2014 and 2019. But we know now that that has nothing to do with The Party.

The ANC does not tolerate corruption nor shield the corrupt. That's why the cabinet, the corps of honourable members, provincial governments and local governments are filled with cadres out of whose faces virtue shineth as the bright sun above. Whose hands are cleaner than the snows of heaven. In whose mouths a Flake chocolate would not dare melt. And all those under a cloud have resigned like the honourable people that they are. And the promotions, the transfers and the deployments are only of the best, the brightest, the cleanest. Hallelujah.

So there you have it, all you 'right wings', the ANC is not corrupt.

That is fortunate because all that we see and hear clamours that putrefaction is so dire that only a clean amputation will save the body. Nothing less.

De Ruyter dredged all that stuff out of his right wing imagination because he is a masochist who knows what happens to whistleblowers here, but enjoys the thought of being a victim.

I do notice that your priorities are as right as ever. When damning allegations are made, damn the alleger immediately. Truth can wait.

But fortunately, the ANC is not corrupt. And they are all, all honourable men.

Richard 

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Blowing In The Wind

Dear Dudu

You have been rather quiet. Those inspirational messages that you used to post, full of good cheer and serene benevolence towards all men, have not graced the twittersphere lately.

(Please note that 'men' is my pronoun for men, women, smaller persons and the undecided - all protocol observed, or something).

The Durban wind was howling like a demented soul last night. I don't know why, but it brought to mind your frequent. eloquent musings on Twitter.  I recall how you reached a record low, juxtaposing a picture of a well-known person against that of an ape. I assume that you were not sued because that was mean-spirited, low and vulgar enough to be considered truly beneath contempt.

So much better when you tweeted about family breakfasts with your excellent father. Heartwarming stuff. Good to read that you have stimulating discussions at the breakfast table. You mentioned one such about blowpipes or blowjobs - something along those lines. I assumed  that this is similar to archery but using older, indigenous weapons. Not having participated in or watched this particular sport, I consulted Dr Google. I was a little taken aback at what appeared. Also disappointed that Dr Google had no further information. This is perhaps a sport known only to a small group of enthusiasts?  Probably people with an interest in the weaponry of indigenous peoples  (tribes of the Amazon etc.).

I imagine that you have thrown your full support behind your father's efforts in his new role as chairperson of some acronym. The new job is probably as demanding as his previous one. What was it again? Oh, yes president and Excellency. This could explain why we've not seen tweets with the usual celebrations of dubious, obscure victories, paeans of praise for dubious, obscure persons or vitriolic, upper-case laden attacks on an assortment of foes. Please keep up the good work, whatever it is.

While I'm quite curious about the blowpipe / blowjob concept, I'm content that the 'answer is blowing in the wind'.

I wish you joy and satisfaction in your new-found interests.

Yours in the struggle to find fun, stimulating pastimes for the whole family.

Richard 

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Hatman, The Dark Crusader

A shadow among the shadows, he surveyed the surviving streetlights from the balcony of his five star hotel room. Loadshedding had just ended.

What evil was being perpetrated even now down in those dark streets and alleyways? Rape, murder, robbery? No rest for a crusader. He fingered the brim of his fedora, one of his favourites, bought in a Grey Street store. No, now Dr Yusaf Dadoo Street. Yes, name changes  - the proud symbols of the peace  and prosperity that came with democracy and his Party. He flinched at a volley of gunshots from the street below. Well, he corrected himself, the peace and prosperity still to come.

More gunshots, running footsteps and yells drifted up to  him. Let the police handle it, he thought. He had a far more important mission on his hands. He remembered the mass rapes, the armed robberies, the assassinations... Always, he'd been on the scene. There were people calling for his head. Claiming that he was failing at his crime-fighting job. 

What did they know? There are only so many speeches that one man can make at the funerals of celebrities. Only so many exhausting business class flights that one man can take. Only so many hats that one man can wear. But he'd always been there at the post-crime scenes, dispensing wisdom, threats, wisecracks, promises. Oh, he'd done his part in the grim struggle against rampant, violent crime in South Africa. His flashes of wit, his homespun wisdom would be writ large in the annals of crime-fighting. 

Who could forget the revelations about tattoos, alcohol, zama zamas and pretty girls? The epiphany about population growth and crime? Dramatic clashes with insolent activists?

The wailing of police sirens broke into his reverie.  Hmm, an hour after the first shots. They were getting better.

He tugged at his hatbrim.

'Robbin', he called.

Robbin appeared silently, munching on a Streetwise Two.

'Get the Hatmobile. We've got an important speech to tavern owners to go to'

Robbin sped away, the sound of munching accompanying his quiet footsteps.

'Boy's getting fat', he thought. 'Too much KFC.'

He tilted his hat and squared his shoulders.

'The show must go on.'

The Daf.., oops, Dark Crusader glided away into the night.

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The Cele Conundrum

 Dear Mr Cele 

More people  = more crime. So obvious.

Why did we not pick this up earlier?Thank goodness for your beautiful mind.

Population growth, you pointed out, is a prime reason for your failu...., I mean, difficulties in the struggle against rampant crime. Ah, then China and India must be drowning in rape and murder, I thought. Not that simple, as you explained. China has a policeman on every corner, quoth you. That's a lot of corners and a helluva lot of coppers.

We do fall within the UN recommendation for police officer to citizens ratio. I suppose that's irrelevant though, when there's crime on every corner. Let's not talk about police quality  as I'm sure that our KFC-crunching officers compare with the best. Apart from that, the UN are not God, Ms Mbete once pointed out. It is interesting that we fare better than Mother Russia as regards the ratio. That's probably why their criminals are running amok internationally.

These nuggets from your thorough research and fertile, analytical mind will be invaluable to our police on the beat in some corners of the land. You will be pleased to know that a very experienced friend of mine agrees with you. He was being mugged for the fourth time when he asked his assailants why they were beating him when they already had his wallet. 

"Population growth, bruh", growled one of the villains, sinking a fist into his midsection.

"By golly", he thought, just before passing out. "Mr Cele was right".

And that was a comfort.

No doubt you will be in iinternational demand to lecture on the Cele Conundrum. I imagine that Joe Biden has already called:

"Mr Ramaposer, we'd love to have your Mr Sele over to lecture the FBI. By the way, those war games with the Reds....."

You've done your homework, sir. Alcohol, tattoos and now unprotected sex - the three horsemen of the near-collapse.

We now await your inevitably,  equally dazzling tactics and strategies to defeat the curse of crime.

Yours in the struggle against population growth-driven crime.

Richard   

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Gum Control

Dear Mr Lesufi 

You have ascended from Ghostbuster- like hunting down of racists and racism at schools, to the dizzy heights of philosopher-premier. 

As is customary, promises trotted out like proud lipizzaners at their showground best. 

Then a celebrity was horribly assassinated. With the agility of a seasoned politician, without passing Begin, or collecting R200, you leapt to a solution to end all solutions. Gun control. This one must have flashed upon you like sheet lightning across the Gauteng skies. Sir, you made Einstein look somewhat pedestrian and Edison less than lightbulb bright.

Of course.  Let the law abiding citizens hand in their licensed guns and the murderous villains are sure to follow suit. How could they do otherwise? Mr Lesufi wishes it so. What a plan! Incandescent in its brilliance,  stunning in its simplicity. Why didn't I think of that? I feel so stupid.

So taken was I with the idea that it inhabited my dreams. I saw the brutal criminals beating their Ak 47s into ploughshares, lions and escaped tigers lying down with lambs. Angelic music  filled the air. I awoke with a smile on my lips, a song in my heart. 'To DreamThe Impossible Dream' I think it was. 

Sir, you take your place at the tables of the immortals in the Valhalla of Ideas To Remember. Before you, go the other greats: gigantic flag monuments, multi, multi-million rand sports sponsorships. All the MSAGA ideas (Make South Africa Great Again).

Had you been there at the right time, you could probably have prevented the second world war with similar, logical, practical insights. One imagines a shamefaced Adolf handing over his weapons:

"Entschuldigen Sie bitte. Es tut mir Leid."

Tweaking a line from a song: what would we do without your smart minds?

Yours in the struggle for gum control.

Richard 

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The People's Party Protests

 Dear EFF Comrades 

I read your righteously indignant statement regarding your treatment at the State Of The Nation Address. You alluded to (to put it delicately) a right bollocking by assorted security people.

I was, in the words of the Woke Ones, literally shaking. (I've tried figuratively shaking but it doesn't work that well). When I'd stopped shaking, with laughter, I tried to make some sense of it.

This incident  was  as distasteful  as the one in which a chap could be heard shouting, during  a Pan African parliamentary session:

".. I will f*ck you up outside, I will kill you outside, I will kill you..."

I can't remember who the fellow was. You might. From a practical perspective, is there any point in f...ing someone up first if the ultimate goal is to kill? Surely a wasteful expenditure of energy or some really dark, warped drive.

I also can't recall when parliament went into shebeen brawl mode. A friend says that it started when a specific party decided that decorum, rules and standards were not for them, the Supreme, Chosen Voice of the People.

He refused to elaborate (still wondering who). The problem, said he, is that the people's problems and suffering are now the stuff of juvenile posturing, clowning and jesting. He cited the infamous debate about the meaning of the word 'fokol' (of which, said party had extensive knowledge and experience).

 

"What they need",  he said, "Is a thorough sjambokking to concentrate the minds".

I was shocked. I reminded him about the respect due to parliament and parliamentarians, the need for restraint and constructive dialogue.

"In my considered opinion",  I added. "A light sjambokking would suffice."

Two questions for the Chosen Party Who May Do Whatever Pleases Them:

1. Once the line is crossed, where is the next line? Shootouts and lynching in parliament?

2. Should we ever become as angry with you as you are with much of humankind, does the same malleability of rules and standards apply?

A thought: should you ever rule....., sorry, fit of laugh..., I mean, coughing. Should you ever rule, when all that you have taught and shown people to do is skop, skiet and donner, then expect them to do no less during your reign. Ask those who go before.

Yours in the struggle for pow..., sorry peace, justice and prosperity.

Richard 

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State Of Kakistan

 Dear Mr  President 

I did not watch your doubtlessly inspired and exciting state of the nation address. What could you possibly say about this major train wreck to persuade anyone with some sense that the train is still on track?

I went in for a different fictional series, on the telly at the same time. 'Kakistan Chronicles' is funnier than 'Yes Minister' and 'Yes Prime Minister'.  It does go over the top somewhat but you'll be used to that. It's a very dark comedy,  I recommend it, though you may be shocked at some of the all-too-familiar scenes and themes. It does come with a 'graphic, senseless violence and nonsensical language' warning.  

A very brief synopsis for your enjoyment. The country of Kakistan is blessed with scenic beauty and mineral wealth. The  most inept, corrupt and clueless clutch of politicians ever seen on one planet frolics around the country, 

Some priceless comic moments. A minister proposes erecting a hideously expensive peace monument in the midst of horrific unemployment and poverty. Another does an even more expensive sponsorship deal with a football club in another country. This is supposed to promote tourism. Unfortunately, ecoli and other nasties outnumber humans on the coast. Electricity flickers on and off like faulty neon. Yet another flies into Geneva but, like Clinton, denies intimate contact with Switzerland. There are many more uproariously funny moments but I shan't spoil the series for you, sir.

"Why doesn't he sack the whole bloody useless lot?" asks one of the characters in the series.

"No testicular fortitude", replies another.

"Hamlet syndrome", says another. "Walks around muttering 'To be or not to be' instead of doing something useful".

"Hamlet, at least, killed the crooked king in the end. This one would probably have kissed him".

Opposition politicians in the series fade into the background like extras. The exception is a firebrand revolutionary of sorts. He has some of the funniest lines in threats and insults. Also great dress sense. He spends a lot of time in the series marching his followers up and down, like the Noble Duke of York. With as much success.

As I said, sir, it's a little overwrought and sometimes challenges willing suspension of disbelief quite severely. Nothing like our gritty reality.

On that note, some tweets mocked Mr Malema for supposedly running away from the security people. Bloody agents spreading fake news, I'd say.  Mr Malema

once reportedly spoke of a revolutionary as a walking, killing machine. If he did indeed run away, it would only be to avoid the temptation to kill someone.

I left off watching the series at the point where the president, like you, was about to address the nation. That should be a hoot.

Yours in the struggle for inspiration.

Richard 

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Cool Your Spurs, SA Tourism

 Dear Mr Themba Khumalo

I understand your fierce defence of the brilliant Tottenham Hotspur  sponsorship idea. Some are dismissing it as an unnecessary extravagance. People don't understand the mesmerizing effect of tourism advertisements around the sports grounds. 

Recently, I was watching a brilliant Sharks winning try at  King's Park against a hopelessly outmatched Stormers side.

I was distracted by a stunning advertisement for a major bank. As in a trance, I immediately opened an account from my cellphone. (Had to close it later, as I had no money but I'm sure you get the point).

I imagine that similar scenes will be played out at Tottenham matches.

'Ere Ernie. Did you see what that stupid git of a referee just did?'

'Ang about Erbet. Just bookin meself a Kruger tour in South Africa.'

'Where's that then? Near Liverpool?'

'Africa, Erbet, Africa. Didn't you see that stunning advert? They got lions, elephants, tigers and them striped 'orses'.

'Brillo, mate! 'Ere, book us one too, 

while yere about it.'

The potential is staggering.

It's understandable that you were incensed at the person who leaked the plans to the media. 

That is a horrific thing, to disclose secret, sacred tourism plans. More serious than Don Trump storing top secret documents in his sock drawer. Next they'll be splashing our nuclear secrets all over social media.

It behooves you though, as acting tourism CEO (with top secret clearance), to handle these things calmly and with restraint. You apparently said that the leaker should be isolated. That's so pathetic. Whatever happened to good, old fashioned horsewhipping?  And public hanging? Next you'll be bowing to taxpayer pressure to disclose what you're doing with their taxes. Whatever for? Does Putin go around explaining himself? Or that Kim Something Rocket Boy?

You folks are getting disturbingly soft. Stalin would never have tolerated such nonsense.

What if Zimbabwe stole a march on us and sponsored Bayern-Munich? Those millions of tourists would be gawking at Mnangagwa's Zimbabwe ruins. Instead of enjoying candle lit dinners (and breakfasts and lunches) in our fine restaurants. Durban's pristine waters would be overlooked. Local criminals and foreign investors from neighbouring countries would miss opportunities.

Get those ads out there, sir. Let's have  those millions of soccer hoolig.., sorry, lovers, swarming over our borders, like the investors.

Yours in the struggle for stunningly innovative tourism initiatives.

Richard 

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Taking The Piss

 Dear Mr Mgambi

Like Mr Manyi, I too take strong exception to your 'reckless' use of language during the 'constitution urination' interview. In truth, I am quite pissed off.

Sir, One would expect a seasoned journalist to choose his words with greater care. What's wrong with the good Anglo Saxon word 'pissed'? 'Urinated' sounds rather pretentious; the sort of word that clever blacks and people with white tendencies might sling around when the subject of bladder function comes up at their Sandton parties.

Dr Google tells me that the word goes back to the Latin pissiare and in medieval times, the French pissier. There is a pleasant earthiness to the word and an almost onomatopoeic quality. The word 'urinate' suggests the use of a plastic container in the sterile surrounds of a clinic or laboratory. Mr Manyi was right to be outraged. If Mr Zuma did indeed piss on anything, I imagine he would have done it with his usual gusto and boldness. 

What's more, the piss word appears several times in the King James, for example: 'he that pisseth against the wall..' The word has an impeccable lineage. Incidentally, there is no mention of 'he that pisseth against the constitution'. Perhaps there was a little less tolerance for such activity back then. 

Mr Trump and an alarming number of other public figures in several parts have also been accused of reckless peeing on the relevant constitutions. You are not alone, Mr Zuma. 

Mr Zuma was accused of having gone the extra mile in peeing on the judiciary as well. Doubtless the arguments will rage on. But not for as long as Mr Zuma's tennis exchanges with the law. One empathizes. It must be frustrating to have one's deep desire for a day in court constantly thwarted by inconvenient illnesses and the struggle to find a  prosecutor of choice. Probably like needing to pee but struggling to find an appropriate  pissoir.

Yours in the struggle for proper, genteel use of language in journalism.

Richard 

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