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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