Sofas, Cash and Mysteries

 Dear Mr Fraser

Your steely gaze from the pages of various newspapers seems to reflect the determination of a bulldog with a liberal dash of bloodhound. One that will not relent until its fangs are firmly lodged in the fleshy depths of the intended target's backside.

I am sure that you also pat little children on the head and feed stray cats. Your concern for justice, righteousness and truth must be evident to anyone who visits the correct news outlets.

Your time in London was clearly not wasted. No treasures buried in the depths of sofas or mattresses can evade your X- ray-like scrutiny. Did you sit at the feet of MI5, MI6 or some other alphaneumerically named organization?

Sir, those skills must not be wasted. South Africa needs you.  The wheels of justice are grinding excruciatingly slowly. There are mysteries galore to be solved. Scores of dark deeds to be dragged into the bright Mzansi sunlight. Let me mention but a few.

Truckloads of cash are alleged to have been moved by our security cluster to destinations as yet unknown. There are stories of ministers romping around the globe like Peter Pan on speed. The financing of said romps is of interest. So much unfinished business.

I am particularly interested in three intriguing stories. The first is that a gentleman did one of those sell-your-soul deals with a bunch of devils. Spicy details involve delicious curries, bags of cash and friends with benefits. Then there's the alleged rape of the treasury and the security clusters. You might already know something about the latter. The third story involves the allegedly premature, slightly dodgy, ill-considered release from custody of the gentleman mentioned earlier. I bet you can't wait to get your teeth into that one.

Just imagine them all as metaphorical sofas, fat and bulging with cash in a variety of denominations. South Africa expects you to do your duty.

Yours in the struggle to track down all who have, in the words of Horatio (Hamlet)  uphoarded in their lives extorted treasure in the womb of earth.

Richard

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A Fistful Of Dollars

Dear Mr Malema 

I had a jam jar full of cash buried near a lemon tree in the garden. It was stolen recently by a casual gardener.

Why did I keep such a large sum of cash? I do not trust banks. Remember VBS?  I have to pay a fee for depositing money. It's like paying a cover charge for entering Pick ' 'n Pay. Bank charges far exceed any interest I make. It's possible that Mr Ramaphosa faced similar challenges.

I did not report the theft to the police for several reasons. I doubt that even our superb, bloodhound-like detectives can crack this case. The only clue is a jam jar sized hole in the garden. In addition, the police station was being robbed by armed men at the time that I went to report. I thought it best to return later. Then I realized that I really don't care about the money, though I could use the jam jar. My bank and SARS also took money from me. Their methods, rates and the use of my hard-earned money may border on the dubious (or perhaps even crawl under that border fence). I did not report them either.

Mr Malema, let me point out a few salient facts. 

1. There was nothing underhand in my method or intentions (underground, yes). It wasn't something grubby like hiding cash in a mattress.

2. My approach was comparable to the fine traditions of banks such as VBS. I choose them at random.

3. The money was honestly earned from the sale of wild plants. A neighbour with a keen interest in botany spotted them in my garden. The slender leaves and distinctive scent caught his interest and he and his botanist friends made many purchases. I think they had herbal remedies in mind.

You have demanded that the president step down with immediate effect or suffer the same fate as Mr Zuma. I would hate to suffer the same fate as Mr Zuma: having tea with you, selling books from a car boot, dancing... The man looks a shadow of his former, jovial self. You did a number on him.

I am, therefore resigning, with immediate effect, from the following organisations:

The Wentworth Gardening Association 

The Bluff Bingo Club

The Beer And Literature Society, Durban South

I hope, hereby, to avert and avoid your fearsome wrath. A friend from Brackenfell warned me.

Yours in the struggle to dig up the buried truth.

Richard

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O Tichmann 

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His Master's Voice

 Dear SABC

I have a wonderful idea for a logo to go with your 'Fearless' campaign. Remember the RCA logo, a cute little dog, head cocked, listening to a wind-up gramaphone. The inspirational slogan was 'His Master's Voice'. You could call the dog 'Fearless'.

You really are fearless. It takes real courage and an absence of skaam cells to fly so boldly and gallantly in the face of South African reality. A sort of Icarus of the media. Watch the feathers, though.

I wondered if I was being inordinately suspicious and cynical about your 'news'.  (Being of a sensitive, tender- hearted disposition). Perhaps even paranoid. Then, yet again, you treated us to a rambling piece about the Party's internal politics, worthy of a Pulitzer for Irrelevance and Insignificance. It was a brain-numbing ten minutes or so. A gentleman, who would be well advised to stick to, or find, a day job, warbled on self-indulgently for what seemed like an eternity. SABC, you didn't get the memo. We Don't Care.

I am sure that somewhere in Limpopo, someone was sighing contentedly. The rest of us prefer real news. Your guided tours through the belly of the well-fed beast are anything but.

I think the gabbling gentleman's name was 'Soviet'. In the moment that I dozed off, I thought that was the title of the news item.

I've heard of a bubble that protects sports people from infection. You seem to have found your own bubble. A cozy cocoon of Party titbits, mediocre soccer, Tiktok videos and other light snack offerings. You are in little danger of being infected by the dangerous realities of lying, savagery, buffoonery and corruption that make up present day South Africa. 

I'm not sure though, that it's right or accurate to call your offerings 'news'.

Yours in the fearless quest for news.

Richard

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Only in South Africa

Dear Fellow South Africans 

An American president once forgot which country he was in, embarrassing his hosts and his retinue. That's not unusual At the Zondo Commission, one of our able politicians could not remember his / her / their date of marriage, date of birth or whether,in fact, she was ever born.

That will never happen to me. I know that I am in South Africa. Only in South Africa can the following happen. On four or five consecutive occasions I've tried to deposit money at a specific ATM. Each attempt was unsuccessful. The marvel of technology was not working. I took to muttering a prayer under my breath each time I approached the machine. Of course, I'm delighted to pay a fee for depositing my own money inside. A bit like paying a parking fee at the KFC drive-through.

Even that delightful option was not available today. Someone, in a dizzying flash of inspired innovation, had deposited a coin in the machine. All deposits ceased. To my creditors: I tried. It was, in the succinct latin phrasing of one of our sharper legal eagles, a f@#$d up situation.

Then there's SABC news. Some fifteen minutes were spent on yet another internal ANC squabble over some god forsaken region. A spokesperson explained. It was as interesting as the speech at the Morticians' Society annual dinner I attended. Or the accountants' conference entitled 'A Passion For Balance Sheets'. This was as relevant as as a piece on the mating habits of frogs in Outer Mongolia. Just in case you haven't noticed, fellas, we are, as always, in the midst of a frenzy of looting, buffoonery and incompetence. But then, that's not really big news, is it? Not when compared to the high jinks and high stepping of our singing, dancing comrades.

So glad that they can always rely on you, SABC, for attentive coverage.

Yours in the fingernail breaking struggle to cling onto sanity in South Africa.

Richard

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O Tichmann 

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Misiderata

 The looters' version of the Desiderata - apologies to Max Ehrmann

Go stealthily amid the noise and the haste, and remember what joy there may be in looting . As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all victims.

Speak your scam boldly and confidently; and listen to others, especially to the rich and the powerful; they too have their uses.

Avoid honest and ethical persons; they are vexatious to the spirit. If you compare your loot with others, you may become vain or bitter, for always there will be greater and lesser looters than yourself.

Enjoy your successes as well as your schemes. Keep interested in your own grift, however humble; you need real moolah in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of lawmen. But let this not blind you to what opportunity there is; many rubes and gulls are out there, and everywhere there's a chance of hustle.

Watch yourself. Especially always feign disinterest. Neither be cynical about loot; for in the face of all poverty and disenchantment, it is as essential as the air.

Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the scams of youth.

Nurture powerful contacts to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many arrests are born of fatigue and carelessness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the kleptoverse no less than the thieves and the tsotsis; you have a right to be here.

And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the kleptoverse is unfolding as it should. Therefore get a piece of it, wherever you perceive it to be. And whatever your labours and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep cash in your wallet. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a lootable world. Be cheerful. Strive to be wealthy.

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O Tichmann 

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Gas

 Dear ANC

Isn't it heartwarming when politicians practise what they preach? Your righteously indignant rebuke to the cynical, uncaring Nationalist Party back in 1993:

“The ill-considered and uncaring decision to increase the petrol price only confirms the NP government does not have the interests of the majority of South Africans, who are poor and struggling desperately to make ends meet, at heart. If the government persists in pressing ahead with these indefensible price hikes, they will be inviting a similar reaction to that when VAT was increased. Now is the time for them to establish the tradition of a government that cares for and consults with its citizens”. [16 September 1993; ANC Statement;

You embody and personify the tradition of a government that cares for and consults with its people. I'm not sure how much more caring South Africans can take. It's overwhelming.  I missed the extensive consultation  that preceded the series of fuel increases you have blessed us with. My fault. 

An ANC luminary once spoke of drinking champagne on behalf of the  people.  A  piece of oratory worthy of Shakespeare. Clearly, you also eat on our behalf . Judging by the many well toned bodies on prominent display , you do a damned good job. We are gratified. You give new meaning to the notion of a well-rounded team of ministers and MPs. You put the statue of David to shame.

At the rate that you are implementing fuel increases (in the interests of the majority of South Africans, one assumes), you will soon also have to drive on behalf of the people. Or are you doing that already? And a damned good job you are doing there too: blue lights flashing as you careen down the freeways on the way to history-making meetings and conferences. It's good to see that your accompanying bodyguards are ready to avert threats from lunatics who may be triggered by your enlightened initiatives.

We hear much of the harmful emissions threatening  our planet. But little of the noisome flatulence of corpulent politicians that threatens our country.

Yours in the struggle to serve with honour and compassion.

Richard

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O Tichmann 

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  .

The Silence Of The Wolves

Dear South African Politicians 

It's unnerving when you are so quiet.

There's a fearful waiting for the other jackboot to drop.

I'm sure you know the Afrikaans saying: 'Stille water, diepe grond

Onder draai die duiwel rond'.

Mr Malema bounced from the school grounds to the international stage with a fiery attack on France. Macron is still recovering from a nervous breakdown. I bet Boris Johnson  and Joe Biden are quaking, as they wonder who's next. Go for it, sir. The old age homes can wait. You should also have a go at Ukraine for deliberately getting in the way of Russian tanks. The bloody cheek of it.

Mr Mthethwa, with the brilliance of a dying supernova, flagged the need for an inspirational monument. That doesn't seem to be working, May I suggest something that we can all solidly identify with? Something that truly captures and memorializes our struggles, in recent times, to be free.  I propose a gigantic pit toilet monument, with an honour guard of terracotta members of parliament. We could call it 'The Forbidden Privy'. Why should the Chinese have all the fun?

Please give us some forewarning of what you plan to do next. Experience tells us that it's unlikely to have us dancing in the streets (unless in protest). To allow South Africans an opportunity to fortify themselves with a stiff drink or herbal infusion of choice,  I suggest a roster along the lines of:

Tuesday: President to deliver inconsequential speech

Wednesday: Ms Duarte to make baffling pronouncement 

Thursday: ANC spokesperson to make incomprehensible speech

Friday: Mr Mantashe to attack target chosen from list below

Saturday: Open mic session featuring Mr Mbalula and others

Following week: Opportunity for all remaining MPs, provincial and municipal representatives and forgotten politicians to express horror, shock, indignation or delight, but otherwise leave no mark of their passing.

Yours in the struggle to cope.

Richard 

Tips for the blogger gratefully accepted 

Capitec Bank, South Africa  

1378565477

O Tichmann 

+27 833970723