Nkosi Sikelela

 I have taken to denying that I am South African.

Our politics and our reasoning are embarrassingly bizarre.

The language and  gymnastics of George Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four live large in our country. Together with some bland socialist biltong.

Our own Ministry of Plenty grasped a glorious photo opportunity recently. Gasp! Two kettles and two stoves donated to a community.. Smiling faces and smart suits around the glittering gifts. Viva ANC!  Shall we dance from  new dawn to new dusk?

A gentleman appears in court for alleged looting conducted from his smart Mercedes. Hats off to him for bringing style and panache to the grubby business of looting. He is being prosecuted / persecuted because he is a black man with a smart car, opines a knowledgeable Twitteratus. I hope that the comment was satirical. If not, that's a stupidity as terminal as the illnesses that got some fine  gentlemen released from state custody, in recent times.

We have the politics of pedigree. If you once wore  camouflage uniforms and fired AK47s into the air, It follows that you can govern. This is regardless of 

how complete a rejected dog's breakfast you have made of it to date,

On the other hand,  clean, safe, functioning cities are just racist sleight of hand. And that party can't dance. To the whataboutists who might wonder  how  much the DA and others  are paying me: buggerall, but you're welcome to contribute, account details below.

We have the politics of promises, pirouettes, capering and scrotum squeezing. We are the party of the people (who meet specific melanin and border fence crawling skills criteria). You can see it by the overalls we wear over our Calvin Kleins and Breitling watches. What have we contributed? Lots  and lots of marches, entertaining threats, insults and speeches. Oh, and grand promises. What's more, we are the only party with banking expertise.

Man, I don't care if a green monkey from Mars becomes our next president, just as long as it leads us out of this pit toilet with commonsense, competence and compassion. And is properly documented.

If your heart's desire is to entrust your children's future to gibbering / thieving / incompetent buffoons, why, that is your democratic right. I cannot, for the life of me imagine why. But then, what do I know, not having fired an AK into the air or experienced the silken caress of Calvins and coveralls.

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More South African Limericks

 A genial fellow named Julius

Was apoplectic and furious

His shutdown was bunkum

The PR was hokum

So he yelled out: "I've got your scrotum!"

The minister of Electricity 

A genius of some eccentricity 

Made a Sherlock Holmes - like deduction 

To nation wide acclamation 

Our problem is tech, not corruption

An ANC politician

A consummate, master tactician

Like a Shakespeare cloned 

He boldly intoned

We will leave no turn unstoned

At the hospital in Tembisa 

They try very hard to please ya

No hospital gown

Dressing up like a clown 

With skinny jeans you'll be down 

In Africa, south of the border

Reigned chaos, crime and disorder 

The  leadership said "Drink your gin and your beer

There's nothing to fear

As long as the  ANC's near

Renowned for our innovation

And a passion for education

When of a school we tire

We just set it on fire

Amid dancing and much jubilation 

Our cricket and rugby is fine

With soccer we need help divine

In others we do fairly well

Our top sport, truth to tell:

Is looting, in which we excel

A jovial fellow named Zuma

Was dreadfully ill went the rumour

But he belted a tune

Danced from morning till noon

Told the illness "Voetsek, wena, phuma!"

Elon Musk discovered a nexus

"Cars electric won't vex us"

But Eskom's loadshedding 

Made him roll up his bedding 

And he relocated to Texas

Our parties in opposition 

To save SA is their mission 

But when it comes to the crunch

Government has them for lunch

As substantial as an apparition 

PresIdent Vladimir Putin 

To South Africa rode an Ilyushin

"Arrest him", some cried

But they'd rather have died

For this comrade they're solidly rootin'

A criminal called Thabo Beater

In his prison cell held a fiesta

Then he burned down the cell 

A dead body as well 

And to Sandton he went post-siesta

 

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Police Story

 Dear Fellow South Africans 

The sound of semi- automatic gunfire is shockingly loud, chilling and menacing. Particularly in the middle of a sunny morning 

I counted two bursts of semi-automatic gunfire. Later a video surfaced. It was  more a sound recording. No one in his or her right mind shows a face at a window at times like this. This could have been a Hollywood movie - Durban Drug Wars. Small arms fire semi automatic fire and Lord knows what else. The 50 or so rounds that were fired were not Hollywood props, The screams were not from extras. The blood must have been real enough. 

Kudos to the police this time. They actually turned up in time to get their van shot at. Perhaps there will even be arrests. Well, let's not get carried away.

What is usually missing amid the crashing of gunfire and the screams of terror is the wailing of police sirens. The police station is within easy hearing distance.  The gun battles are audible over half the suburb.  Would some of the excuses in the past have been:

Eish, we had no van.

Eish, all our officers were out. 

Eish, there were no celebrities involved? Eish, the station was being robbed.

Eish, we were waiting for backup / firearms / vests / Godot.

Eish!

There is no point in lambasting Mr  Cele. The poor fellow has clearly demonstrated that he is as out of his depth as a toddler thrown into the deep end of a pool for the first time. Can anyone explain what the commissioners, generals, colonels, lieutenants and other impressively titled coppers do?

Apart from attending Important Conferences and bumping into one another at state funeral parades. I assume that they are handsomely rewarded for those pretty titles and pretty uniforms. We know that intelligence does not always rhyme with police in some countries (not ours, of course - Good Lord!) But we do have police intelligence do we not? I would love to see the list of cases that they have actually cracked. Shouldn't be hard. I suspect that it would be rather brief. 

Police people, we watch TV. We see how the police in other countries operate. We know that they are not all Sherlock Holmes or Hercule Poirot or Columbo. They are ordinary policemen who work hard and methodically. Their genius lies in never letting go, following every lead from every angle, being guided by their experience and sometimes a spark of inspiration. They use technology that works. They communicate with fellow officers in other divisions and areas.

They are not reluctant to call for community help (including local TV stations) and many cases are solved on the basis of tips received. They knock on many doors and walk the streets, the silly buggers. 

Mr Cele might argue that we don't have the resources to cope with population growth. Yours to find solutions, dear man, not obstacles or scapegoats. That's why your pay packet is chubbier than ours. That's why you have nice houses and cars at our expense. And can jet from coast to coast, philosophizing about the dating habits of zama zamas, the morally corrupting effects of tattoos and the dangers of population growth. All that wonderful Advanced Policing stuff that has stuff-all to do with our bloody, dangerous reality.

Talking of what real police officers do in other countries, which of those boxes do you tick,  dear South African police?  

Please note that a talent for sleeping anywhere at any time is not among the boxes to be ticked. How many of you see police work as a vocation? How many as a vacation between paydays?  Here's a hint: when you played Cops and Robbers as a kid, did you usually play the cop part or the robber part? 

Some advice: if all that you get out of your police career are good sleep opportunities,  then I suggest that you reinvent yourself. Go into politics. Counsellors not only have sleep opportunities but there's dancing and singing as well and good chow. Make some room for young people who really want to make a career out of law and order. You may not be familiar with those terms. Doctor Google can help. I think you have time enough between naps to consult with him.

Go on. Who dares, wins.

Yours in the almost lost struggle for law and order.

Richard 

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Electrifying

 Dear Minister of Electricity 

I wondered why we have had less loadshedding lately. You know how one looks back with nostalgia to starlit nights, cold food, the  ethereal beauty of stalactites from dripping candle wax.     

Just days into the job, you cracked the code, solved the riddle, cut the Eskom Gordhan knot, pardon, Gordian knot. 

Consistent energy availability will ultimately lead to the end of loadshedding 

An epiphany to beat all epiphanies. A Daniel brought to Eskom. It is as if the intellects  of Edison, Einstein,  Archimedes and Newton all fused in one electrifying moment. We will never be the same.

This followed the Sherlock Holmes-like observation that technology, not corruption is the root of all evil at Eskom. You are hitting them out of the park, sir.

It is entirely possible that Mr de Ruyter was seeing and hearing things.  What with  cyanide or sinusitis problems (I'm a bit confused as to which it was - both? Apparently our finest were onto a sinusitis theory). I  did experience some disorientation when I had severe sinusitis.  During a conversation about the great power utility,  someone said: 

 "We must stamp out corruption completely."

I heard it as:

"Someone must eat."

These things happen.

It is not inconceivable that  journalists, on the trail of Eskom crime cartels, actually mistook  technicians out on the town for villains - a  classic confusion of technology with corruption. After all, how many of us can tell at a glance,  or after an investigation, the difference between  technicians and cartel villains? Particularly in the Eskom  - inspired gloom.   I've often mistaken honourable members of parliament for thugs. These things also happen. 

Jealous folk commented that you were   stating the blindingly obvious.  Genius is so often unappreciated. A prophet is not without honour,  except in his own portfolio.   Is it not typical of the genius mind to be able to pinpoint the overlooked, the taken for granted; to parcel it in a deceptively simple  scientific statement?  I used to wonder why we were taught that a+b=a+b. What the hell else could it equal? Now I am older and wiser. And still don't understand what the hell that was about.

Such is the Zen-like quality of genius and wisdom. A calm,  clear pond, out of whose seemingly  tranquil  depths the gloriously  hued koi rise suddenly and unexpectedly, scaring the shivambu out of one.

I bet the wires are buzzing right now in places as distant as Moscow and Washington.

"Comrade Ivan, drop whatever you are doing and take this message."

"Da comrade."

Sound of a vodka bottle crashing to the floor.

"Alert Comrade Vladimir's secretary.  He will want to be woken for this news."

"What is it comrade?  Is Trump defecting?"

"Bigger.  A South African comrade has discovered that consistent energy availability will ultimately lead to the end  of loadshedding."

"Jumping matryoshkas! This is bigger than Comrade Igor's invention of the lightbulb."

In a CIA building disguised as a Pizza hut,  the Russian voices come through with crystal clarity on the Sony tape.

 An agent stops his pizza slice halfway to his mouth.

"You hear that Bill?"

"Yeah, commie BS. It was Edison."

"No, you klutz. The bit about consistent energy supply."

"Jumpin' Jehosaphat! Better get the president onto this ASAP.  You know how grumpy he gets when he's woken, but this affects national security."

 

"I'm  on it buddy. Pass me a slice of that pepperoni, will ya."

And so once more, as in the days of Chris Barnard South Africa shocks and shakes the world. In Barnard's day, not least because,  according to some posts on social media, the heart transplant stitching was actually done by a gardener.  It would not surprise us to learn that the anaesthetic was administered by a sangoma. That's how we roll down here. When we're not rocking....

Back to Eskom and the Power of One. The most appropriate response to a revelation that has implications for energy management centuries hence, (barring the odd global nuclear conflict),  is:

 'Eish'.

Yours in the struggle for deceptively simple solutions to complex problems and the ability to see beyond corruption to the hot, throbbing heart of the issues.

Richard

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Politics of the Scrotum

 Dear Mr Malema 

You are clearly having a ball.  After the highly successful shutdown had everyone quaking with laugh...,I mean, in their boots, you informed members of Parliament that you have them all by the scrotum. 

No one can accuse you of not being innovative.  Africa is renowned for politics of the stomach, with South Africa a continent leader. You have now introduced politics of the scrotum. 

Just some advice, sir. The scrotum is defined as the external sac that encloses the testicles. This could be why your recent vote of no confidence was unsuccessful. The MP's may have experienced your ministrations as a fondling rather than punishment. You need to take a firmer, more encompassing grip. Perhaps the next vote of no confidence.

I am singularly impressed by your poetic, statesmanlike oratory. You blew Mister Mbeki's'  'I am an African' speech away. Your style is reminiscent of a sort of Daily Sun's  Churchill or Kennedy,  Life promises to be most interesting when  you become president of what's left of South Africa.  I can imagine you calling Kamala Harris. 

"Ms Harris, I am calling about preferential trade treatment for South Africa."

That's an interesting subject,:Mr Malema. Please do go on."

"You have no choice."

"I don't understand."

"Because I have you by the...."  Long pause.

"Mr Malema?"

"Er, Ms Harris, I'll call you back. "

"Floyd, Mbuyiseni!!"

 One can picture you at international leadership meetings. I see every male leader instinctively covering his nether regions at your approach. Of course this would exclude such comrades as Putin and the Cuban bloke, whose southern extremities would remain safe. 

Now, sir if you could  just put the squeeze on crime, our economic problems, our pathetic education, unemployment and the other two dozen challenges that we face. We could say, like a famous son of the ANC, who was rumoured to also have an interest in matters anatomical : "We gonna be alright".

 I am glad that you did not go for the jugular but further afield, because that has not worked with our portly politicians. Who knows? As we are squeezed in this mill, perhaps the answer does lie in the scrotal manipulation approach. Talking of squeezing,  is your preferred technique the squeeze, the twist or the  hearty tug? Or all of the above. This is very important for the world of political discourse going forward.  I imagine that those with whom you interact in this fashion would be going backward. 

There is your humility,  your grasp of global issues, your calm, restrained, practical, pragmatic approach to the challenges of South Africa, your old-fashioned courtesy.  Add this modern approach to political oratory and we have the complete statesman. I see political wannabes all over the world imitating your unique style. The squeeze gesture will probably become the standard in parliaments from Tibet to Timbuktu. Well done, sir. You are the example of the eloquent,  consummate, fire-eating African politician. You are a credit to your country and your continent. Africa applauds you.

Yours in the struggle for meaningful political intercourse.

Richard 

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Let Me Have Folk About Me That Are Dumb

I am grateful for the basic, generic education that I received.

Back when I had a bank account, the bank manager called me in to ask why my overdraft was overdrawn. I'm puzzled as to why bank managers ask redundant questions. Also why, in the face of skyrocketing national debt, they are so obsessed with trivia.

Drawing myself up to my full five feet, five inches height to intimidate the short bugger, I explained that the square of the hypotenuse is equal to the sum of the squares of the other two sides. He was impressed, rolling his eyes and looking heavenward. 

Knowing that Vasco De Gama did some sailing around here has been useful. It's a great conversation starter in the long Home Affairs queues. 

It would have been useful to be able to select subjects just a little more aligned to the real world and one's own aptitudes. For example, languages for me, quantum physics for many of you - a better start to the world of careers. Still, it's good to know that Archimedes promoted hygiene and Isaac Newton healthy fruit.

Condoleezza Rice and some others were involved in a think tank, (inspired, I'm sure, by our own Cyril), to address the risk that poor education posed to national security. 

"What in the name of Julius are the Yanks on about?"  I thought.

An encounter with a mugger got the brain cells working a bit more briskly. It was then that it struck me (the gentleman himself having struck me twice).

Would we be a lavatory country if our education had been different? What if we'd been challenged to think independently, solve real problems, analyze information, innovate, make reasoned decisions? 

Our problem solving abilities are piss-poor.

"We don't have decent facilities. Let's burn down our library.  That should do It."

"We have a bewildering array of problems that no one party can solve. This requires some profound thought. Let's march in March and if our people are hungry, don't blame them for climbing into those kotas and chips on your shop counters."

We cannot catch dumb, brutal thugs. What hope of collaring the slick criminals masquerading as politicians, businessmen and civil servants? No wonder that we are a safe haven for crooks, terrorists and every kind of parasite.

Our decision-making is appalling. 

"The Great Liberation Movement has trashed our country. Let's vote them in again. There are still some railway sleepers, stations and cables that need proper  disposal."

Our innovative responses to some complex problems have been to  appoint a minister of electricity and to have a pathetic march. The minister gave us a foretaste of his own formidable problem solving skills. In one meeting with some Eskom staff he established that de Ruyter, journalists and others have mistaken technical problems for horrific corruption. Yes, one can see how easily that could happen. Almost twins, those two types of problems. Lord, let this man be available for president!

We are like a crew in a deep, underground mine. The roof sags. The supports rot. Managers, shareholders, miners, engineers run around shouting garbled instructions. Some dance around, their shouted slogans and foot stamping makimg the supports tremble. How long?

I see, Ms Rice. The dumbing-down of a country is the prelude to its destruction. A kind of marinating of the ox for the spit.

This may suit some. Borrowing from Bill:

Let me have folk about me that are dumb

Dull headed folk and such as sleep upright

Yond Clevas have a lean and hungry look 

They think too much 

Such folk are dangerous 

Just an opinion. I'm sure that the experts on SABC TV and in government have it all buttoned down. And we can sleep well.

My community newspaper had an article headlined "Remembering Good Old Durban". There is no good old South Africa to remember  - not for everyone. We had hoped for a good, new South Africa. We got the dumbed down version. 

The front page headline was "No-one Left Behind This Human Rights Day".

Apologies to Don McLean:

Bye bye Miss South African  Pie 

Drove my Chevy to the levee 

And got shot in the eye 

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The Toilet Zone

 Have you ever fought a seemingly unending infestation of cockroaches, bedbugs or other nasties?

Even repeated doses of Blue Death (not the Democraic Alliance . a powerful insecticide) don't work. The bast....,er,  bugs seem to thrive and multiply instead, crawling out of nooks and crevices.  That's corruption and thuggery in South Africa today. 'Dios mio' the Mexican drug cartel bosses would say, crossing themselves in awe.

A state employee found two gentlemen waiting for him in his locked  office. 

"You are holding up our project", said Tweedledee and Tweedledum, as a friendly conversational opener.

"Why haven't you processed the payments?"

Our hero replied that he had no idea what they were talking about. The high priests of monkey business magnanimously absolved him of all blame and left him with this benediction. He was to await instructions from his boss and then to act speedily. 

In rapid succession followed these events:

A call from a government minister abroad, urging him to act quickly on the instructions to come.

An email message from his boss.

Neatly prepared documents from said boss, for his  suddenly important signatures , authorising payments,

Such authorizations were normally done by his boss.

His mother did not raise a fool.  Instead of the documents, he signed his resignation letter. 

 I am happy if you think this a fiction. The person who told me the story is young. She has a family. Much living to do.

It is the sort of story you will find repeated many times, in many South African settings. Discoverable,  If only our police were not preoccupied with Other Important Matters, too many of our journalists with sensatiotion and scandal, our politicians with power and petty rivalry. 

If you think, fellow South Africans, that we are in excrement., you are  half right. We are at the murky bottom  of the largest pit toilet a tenderpreneur could knock together. Drowning. 

It is frightening how little we know of the real business of South Africa. How deluded we are in believing  that there's even the smallest semblance of normality in this country.

There is a teeny possibility that the transaction above might have been perfectly innocent. Just agencies working in mysterious ways for the national good, right?

If we dispensed with notions of rainbows and melktert in the sky,  we would have to concede that:

1. We would need to have about five years of top to bottom auditing and investigation to flush out the vermin 

2. Anyone who so much as glanced at the cookie jar with longing would need legislative therapy 

3. We don't have the will, the stomach and perhaps not even the skills 

That exercise would probably work only through a benevolent dictatorship. Or even a malevolent one, provided it was honest. Of course, that won't happen We are an exemplary constitutional democracy. One might say that we are rather thoroughly rogered. 

Working then, from the 'if you can't beat them' dictum, I've devised a plan, We are heartily sick of pretence, deception, hypocrisy, gaslighting (even if it is  gas from our kindly Russian Comrades). 

My Transparency in Corruption Party (TCP) will ensure that all South Africans, regardless of race, gender, place of origin or border fence penetration point, will:

.1.Be fully informed of all corruption plans, initiatives, projects

2. Be able to participate fully and fairly in corrupt activities in their areas and through the following agencies:

  The Citizens' Corruption Agency  (CCA)

  The Senior Citizens' Corruption Agency (SSCA)

  The Youth Corruption Agency (YCA)

  The Women's Corruption Agency (WCA)

  The Infants and Children's Corruption Agency (ICCA)

  The Illegal Immigrants Corruption Agency  (IICA)

3. Be able to munch on the succulent, worm-filled fruits of corruption.

We will put an end to the horrific use of hitmen 

, (izinkabi - literally 'oxen'), to settle scores. We will employ the talents of izimbuzi, (literally 'goats'), to administer the occasional, deserved, light thrashing. Sjamboks to be used only in extreme cases of stubbornness.

There may not be a way out of the mess but this is a way to participate fully in the mess, as active, concerned  citizens should. 

Shoddy, incompetent corruption activities will not be tolerated, Excellence in Corruption our motto.

If we're to go to hell in a handbasket, let's not drag it out. Let's do it equitably, efficiently expeditiously.

It's our turn to chow down.

Vote for us. By innovative means, we'll ensure that elections are free, fair and favourable.

Do it well, or not at all, our other motto.

Once we're done, which shouldn't take long, we could find creative ways into Zimbabwe, Lesotho, Malawi and other brotherly and sisterly destinations. Leaving South Africa to the other vermin.

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Red Rioting Hood and Friends

Little Red Rioting Hood and friends lived on  the edge of a beautiful green forest.

The forest was looking rather tattered lately. Woodcutters  had wreaked havoc, cutting  and selling the majestic, old trees for firewood. With the profits they  bought all the essentials one needs for a modest life: luxury German  cars, fancy houses and expensive watches. When people  complained, they flashed valid permits and tender documents. Anyway, they said, a regular, thorough pruning with chainsaws was good for the forest,

"Where else will you get fuel for your cooking? Wind turbines?"

"And besides, we donate, out of the goodness of our cholesterol clogged hearts, wood chips and sawdust  to our poorer people to power their ice cream  businesses."

While Little Red lived in a sprawling house and dined on dainties,  friends lived in hastily erected shacks and lived on magwinyas, whose price kept rising. But the friends loved the little hood dearly.

"She speaks so nicely and promises all those good things.  One day we will drive out all the wolves and this beautiful,  green forest will be ours - even if we have to burn it down first,"

The wolves were of every description: fat wolves, not - so - fat wolves, growlers squeakers and howlers.  This really, really annoyed little Red. Some wolves she said did not belong. They should return to the northern forests or pay handsome arrears-rental. To whom, she omitted to mention.

What annoyed her most was that the wolves claimed to be the guardians of the forest. Worse still, they claimed to be grandma's best friends and protectors.

"We took care of grandma when you were still a little Red pipsqueak. 

Now you're nothing but a big talking pipsqueak."

Now Grandma lived on the other side of the forest, just about getting by on a state pension. Her once fine house had seen better days. She often had baked beans, (from a nearby spaza shop), on toast between pension paydays. The wolves, woodcutters and the Hood WhatsApp group all claimed to care dearly about her but her gaunt frame and persistent cough told a different tale. Only a few kindly neighbours ever did practical things for grandma but the wolves, the woodcutters and the hoodsters snarled at them to mind their own business.

Grandma sighed.

If only they would all leave her in peace to do her knitting and baking, have an occasional gin (the prices were pretty much beyond her pension pay grade), watch Durban Gen, Man United and the Sharks.

But it was not to be,  for all had heard the rumour that grandma actually had a substantial amount tucked away in VBS and other banks.

Little Hood arose in a foul humour one morning. Her favourite Gucci store had been closed by protests.

"Enough",  she said.

"Those damned wolves are raiding Grandma's cupboards and filling her head with capitalist, colonialist nonsense. It is the month of March, ideal for marching, and we shall march to Grandma's. She filled a basket with delicious baked goodies: Pan-African pie,  promise puffs,  dialectical delicacies and revolutionary red velvet cake.  All light, fluffy and airy. The aroma filled the forest, reaching even to Grandma's house,  though she couldn't quute tell what it was and whether she liked it or not. The friends of hood cheered,  danced and urina..., pardon, ululated.

But the wolves and woodcutters disapproved.

"How dare you feed Grandma that unhealthy, sickly sweet stuff? Do you have any idea how many grandmas are seriously ill from feeding on that junk?

And the last time you lot marched through the forest, you burned whole swathes. urinated and worse on the pathways."

"Nonsense!" retorted the hoodster.

"The forest and the future belong to us. You are irrelevant."

'Irrelevant', a word she'd learnt recently at school, was one of Little Red's favourites. Almost as good  as 'revolutionary'. (She struggled a bit with the letter 'r', being still so little).

"Irrelevant!" The wolves huffed and puffed indignantly.

"Wrong story", said the little hood. "And you can't blow my house down.  it's made of wevolutionary materials donated by friends of the wevolution." 

So the arguments raged back and forth. The forest rang and echoed with howls, yelps, high pitched, girlish shrieks, barks and what sounded suspiciously like great, booming brain farts.

Grandma sighed and returned to her knitting.

 

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O Tichmann 

+27 833970723

EFFU

Dear Mr Malema 

I have formed a party called EFFU. 

I am writing to confirm that you have no objection to the  coincidental, passing resemblance to your own outfit's name. After all, the U makes all the difference, just as it does in service to the people. As a humble, dedicated, self-effacing servant of the nation, you know this.

 

The Elderly Fascist Fighters United party will fight for rights and recognition for senior citizens. This excludes the many in parliament, who are already fairly well catered for in terms of basic needs (A couple of cars, houses, free transportation, KFC etc.).

Senior citizens have  long endured neglectful and callous treatment from fat cat politicians, uncivil servants and uncaring businesses.  For but one example,  I refer you to queues for pensions, medical treatment and government 'services'. They are on the 

receiving end of 'the proud man's contumely, the insolence of office and the spurns that patient merit of the unworthy takes' (thanks Bill). You

may have heard of the VBS saga. No? I shall send you some Pauli van Wyk articles.  A caution: I am not sure that she isn't one of those Stratcom journalists under the spell of George Soros and the tobacco fellow (not Mazzotti; the Stellenbosch chap).

There is already feverish interest in the party from senior citizens and a smattering of illegal immigrants. There will be no marching for our party.  Queues at such models of service excellence as Home Affairs are hard enough on legs and knees. Tai Chi sessions in public parks, with the odd shouted slogan will nicely discharge our PR obligations. For the rest, what the hell is social media for? If not for an hour such as this.  Who knows, after 20 March your ground forces, too,  might wish to consider this approach.

 

Sir, as one whose  powerful party has danced aloft the heights of 0.7 and almost 5 percent in recent polls, your guidance in some matters would be appreciated. 

We do already know about the power of  promises that you can't keep..., sorry, renege on, made to desperate people. We've read the histories of various  politicians from the 1930s. We are more  interested in the following:

Will our MPs be able to maintain a lifestyle like yours on their  salaries or will they need side hustled such as tenders?

How do you survive those intriguing encounters with court-related matters?

Who knows when one, in the performance of duties, may need to jostle a police officer, without any malign intent? Or to fire off a toy AK47 in innocent celebration? 

Your colourful pronouncements never land you in hot water. I was once sued for calling someone a pig - the swine! Your secret, sir? You have a fine line in insults. I see that you do draw the line at the C-word. Dare I mention it - 'cockroach'. Quite right. They are revolting creatures, revelling in muck and feeding off us.

Your answers to these frequently asked questions will be invaluable to our fledgling party, as we strive to advance the cause of the disadvantaged.

Yours in the struggle for peaceful democratic discourse within the rule of law.

Richard 

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Julius and the Ides of March

Dear Mr Malema 

A friend called you a rotund, little, Gucci-wearing, quasi-communist thug. I was outraged. Too many adjectives in one sentence. I defended you of course, pointing out that you are  neither rotund nor little.

I then marched on his braai in righteous indignation, demanding an apology, which came  in the form of a medium-rare steak. Pretty much as we dealt with those counterrevolutinaries at Clicks.

Sir, I was in the full flow of preparation for Monday's historic march. My red 

ensemble was neatly  pressed,  beret ready to be worn at a jaunty angle. The very model of a modern red-breasted revolutionary (apologies to Gilbert and the other bloke). Then disaster struck. I  pulled a tendon, during one of those 

 knees-ups while practice-marching to the nearest spaza with pamphlets.

Just as you were once willing to kill and / or die for His Former Excellency, Zuma, (before the falling out, followed by reconciliation over Earl Grey and Romany Creams), so am I prepared for the ultimate sacrifice for the Cause. Despite crippling, fiery shafts of pain, I shall watch the entire thing on TV news. 

Naturally, I am prepared to forego  a whole day's pay. I am unemployed but it's the principle....

As a committed soldier of the revolution, I was mentally prepared to respond to looting and any of the ill disciplined behaviour that is anathema to our glorious movement. Alas, I must watch from a distance. Nevertheless, I am certain that racists, colonialists  (colonial clerks included) and other WMC types are quaking in fear. Did we not give a glimpse of our power and potential in recent by-election victories? From the promising 0.47 percent in the Western Cape to the soaring 4.16 percent in the  Eastern Cape. Truly, a juggernaut on the move.

My CIC, a word of advice. I still recall the image of that red beret, lying forlorn on the brackish soil of Brackenfell. Shall we give those environs a miss? I am also scrolling through Twitter.  I intend to  identify areas where right wingers with intentions not as pure and peaceful as ours are spewing out veiled and unveiled threats. Most disturbing and unsettling behaviour but then what can one

expect of those who don't have the maturity and calm wisdom that sets our Movement apart? I shall send a list of areas of concern.

Incidentally, during that conciliatory high tea with Mr Zuma, I imagine that you fell upon each other's necks as Jacob and Esau did, with protestations of undying love and loyalty. The only thing that I love more than such moments of drama and tenderness, is your exemplary display of consistency. 

Despite excruciating agony I shall be watching with interest and enthusiasm, revolutionary songs on my lips, revolutionary beverage in hand.

I rest secure in the knowledge that Ramaphosa will be herding Ankoles in short order. Loadshedding will be at level zero. South Africans will stream into Zimbabwe, Malawi, Lesotho and other sister countries in Mater Africa and vice- versa (with some vice included). 'And all will be well and all manner of things will be well'.

And they lived happily ever after upon the borderless continent of brotherhood and love.

Yours in the struggle for the Cause and branded stuff.

Richard 

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Capitec Bank, South Africa  

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O Tichmann 

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New Dawn

 A new dawn. 

AK47 fire announces the start of a new day. In Durban, not Ukraine. Drug wars, they say. But two innocent bystanders are among the five people killed in the last month or so.

Mr Cele did not fly in. I don't know if the killings made the mainstream news or not. Probably not. None of the victims were celebrities, just people living ordinary lives in the south of Durban. 

Perhaps these killings didn't meet the criteria for pious displays of righteous indignation at media conferences.

In other news, a nurse attacks an  ' ambulance with a panga during a health workers' strike. Strikers attempt to pull a child on life support out of the ambulance. A striker is quoted:

"We don't care if patients die."

Let us be clear that none of these people belong within a mile of healthcare. Nor in society. In a normal society, they would reap the just consequences for savagery. Here, they will surely go on and God help those who fall into their tender mercies in hospitals and clinics.

Upon the heads of union leaders and our government is the blood and the suffering. Callous, criminal behaviour did not start yesterday. When there are no consequences for thuggery, the thugs need no further encouragement. That is where it began. 

You may member the New York Police Department's approach: fix the broken windows, deal with petty misdemeanours. so that the environment does not encourage crime. A simple philosophy: keep the house clean; discourage the cockroaches. My, how we have encouraged the vermin these many years. Not least by example from the very top. There have hardly ever been consequences for criminal behaviour during strikes and protests. 'Ag, shame. It's a democratic right to piss on other people's rights." Remember that this is the twenty-first century with Big Brother video and Small Brother android everywhere.

And so, again, some animals are more equal before the law than others. Test this by smashing a shop window or burning something on your next stroll through town. Through the consenting silence down the years, the unacceptable became standard. Now, the atrocious is commonplace. As you sow....

What says our president?

 

"As I said in the State of the Nation Address, the Presidency and National Treasury will work together to rationalise government departments, entities and programmes over the next three years.

This work – which will review the role of all departments, including the Department of Public Enterprises – will inform the configuration of government going into the next administration"

Vague enough to mean anything and nothing,

I  would have liked to hear this speech: 

"We are in deep shit in every sphere -except tax revenue collection  Every one of my ministers will be moving their behinds  as if the place were on fire - which it is. We will have achieved the following by these dates...Any behinds not moving at pace and with purpose will he kicked into touch."

But I am sure that you will operationalise the strategies emanating from various think tanks, coalescing blue sky thinking with pragmatic approaches and best practice methodologies employed globally in the simmering and poaching of amphibians. Or something.

God bless South Africa 

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Baas Op Die Plaas

 Dear ANC and Friends

Some say that you are a mafia.

That's grossly insulting, grossly unfair. The mafia are amateurs compared to you, if half of what we read about you is true.

SANRAL, the state-owned roads agency, grants a very handsome bridge tender  to a company you may hesitate to contract to build a braai stand. Okay, it was only four billion. There will be cries of 'corruption'. But one can picture them applying their fine minds:

'So they have debt of some 418 million. Finances been described as being in a shambles. Said to be running a defunct company. Hmm, none of that means that they can't build a fine bridge.'

If so, I like the way you think. I myself am in debt, finances in a shambles. But I  

like building bridges. Can we talk sometime?

The bridge saga is just another of the weekly or daily reports from the front where the ANC fights a bloody battle with Corruption (winning, of course). I've seen boxers on the receiving end of a flurry of punches. That's how we feel. 

Please space your shenanigans. We are exhausted. Better still, take whatever's left and bugger off. We'll miss you but oh, the peace. 

More and more people are saying that life was better under apartheid. Of course you can't compare two abominations. 'This genocide was not as bad as that one'.

Under apartheid, people were reminded daily, by the entire fabric of their world, that they were, at best, second class people. The insults, humiliation, brutality gratuitous. Hostage in their own country to vile laws and the whims of vile people. Now, we are held hostage in our own country by the vilest thugs with weapons or smart suits. Now, we are reminded daily that we are, at best, second class denizens of this Animal Farm. And now, as then, notions of decency, compassion and fairness under the law are greeted with guffaws and belches. 

'You're good', says the mafia boss, played by Dr Niro in Analyze That, wagging a forefinger in admiration. You are good. From billion rand projects gone walkabout to state of the art R200 000 wooden mops. Tenders for half stadiums to hospital skinny jeans. 

Smart toilets to high tech taps

So inclusive: politicians, family members. employees, freelancers chancers, guilty bystanders - all feast off the vanishing fat of the land. From the top tiers of government to unknown rural councils, there is fun and frolicking to be had.

And there's your humour:

'The ANC is not corrupt'

'We have done well'

'Renewal'

'Integrity committee'

'Reshuffling'

And so many more brilliant one-liners.

In the words of Tina Turner, You're Simply The Beast, ...sorry, Best.

Yours in the flagging struggle for sanity.

Richard 

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Capitec Bank, South Africa  

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O Tichmann 

+27 833970723

AI: Astounding Intelligence

 Dear Fellow South Africans 

So Mr Cele may become Minister of Intelligence. 

Some compounds cannot be combined without disastrous consequences, says a scientist friend. So it is with this particular compound. I'm puzzled.

Another friend,  who falls into the  Clever Black WhatsApp group  (though I suspect that he's actually a bloody agent), asked with a feigned look of innocence:

"Doesn't intelligence work require demonstrated intelligence?"

I gave him what the classics call a 'withering look'.  He didn't wither.

As an ardent supporter of Mr Cele's innovative approach to policing I reminded him that the Hatman  developed the mp=mc squared theory (more people  = more crime  - the population growth theory). A Nobel prize  winner, if ever I saw one

Of course, SA is awash with rumours 

What with the the dearth of investigative journalism. Our national broadcaster  has found a niche in the fascinating  funeral, tiktok, soccer and ANC public announcements business. Understandably, that leaves no room for the unimportant stuff. One of the most bizarre rumours that I heard recently  is that we have a live president. 

I hope that the intelligence people do better than they did in the July unrest debacle when madam Zuzu (local psychic) and my 12 year old nephew beat them to the punch. So much to investigate, so little time (before we make Zimbabwe look like the uhuru of democracy and clean government by comparison).

There are allegations that one of the most senior ANC people has been involved in shenanigans that would make a hardened mafia boss scurry to the confessional in fear for his mortal soul. There are stories of fraud, looting, corruption and murder that would make the sparse hairs on the head of Semion Mogilevich stand on end. I'm not sure that even Hatman, The Daft Crusader, with his cutting edge approach to crime fighting, would cut it here. Did I just say 'Daft Crusader'? Sorry, damned WMC manufactured keyboards! 

I've met some very angry people recently. The growing darkness of the New Dusk is taking its toll. A clerk at an internet cafe gave me such a fierce look when I enquired about services that I felt compelled to explain that I had no dealings with Eskom crime cartels. She then fixed me with a glare and I hurriedly went on to explain that I didn't know the Guptas either. She seemed mollified.

There is no doubt that we need superb intelligence services. In the police and elsewhere. But this rumoured appointment  - Eish!

Yours in the struggle to overcome this sinking sensation.

Richard 

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Capitec Bank, South Africa  

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O Tichmann 

+27 833970723