Border Control

The ANC's tame channel gave hours of 'news' to the introduction of border control guards.  Obviously almost as important and newsworthy as assorted funerals and ANC conferences.

Now  that the horses have bolted and are spraying dung all over the country, our ever-proactive government tries to lock the stable door. Why does the ANC celebrate things that they should have done long ago and done much better? If (eventually) doing parts of your job is cause for celebration,  then we've all been short-changed on the pomp and ceremony.

The ANC's passion for border control and law and order does seem to have been cleverly disguised up to now. A cynical friend says that it's just possible that  this initiative may have a tenuous link to upcoming elections. 'Huh?' I responded.  I cannot understand the cynicism of some of my friends. What has the ANC not done...., pardon, done to deserve it? We may not have electricity but we have a minister. I think that we even have ministers of intelligence.

We may not have water but we have new taps, as an ANC worthy wittily pointed out.

People have been warning about the porous border problem for a long time. One thing about the ANC, they do catch on eventually. They've caught on recently to how apartheid is still on the rampage and making them look bad.

Another cynical friend warns not to expect too much from the border conrol initiative. We know, says he,  that whatever our efficient govt touches turns into compost. I think that's harsh. Compost is useful.

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Delusions of Normality

Doctor, I'm being plagued by the most awful nightmares imaginable.

And how does that make you feel?

Clammy, sweaty, frightened and with a vast emptiness in my soul.

The soul is a construct we shall examine in the next session. But tell me about these dreams.

Well, Doctor, it's night after night and there are so many. Just last night, I dreamt that my call to the SASSA helpline went through in ten minutes and the service was excellent.

Doctor shakes his head, a frown gathering on his large, intelligent forehead.

Then there was the one in which I was able to make an online booking at Home Affairs. I breezed in and out in two hours.

Hmmm!

What does that mean, hmmm? That sounds bad.

There, there, calm yourself. Breathe deeply and think of the Springboks. Go on.

There was the one in which taxes, petrol and food prices were lowered because the deadwood and thieves in politics had been removed and vast sums of public money recovered.

Sweat gathers on patient's brow. His hands and voice tremble.

Then, I dreamt -  a stifled sob - that it was 2025. The ANC had been thrashed at the polls, gone into exile in Limpopo and the Eastern Cape. The EFF had reinvented itself as an off-the-wall comedy show and there were even a few signs of normality and commmonsense returning in South Africa. Oh, God!

Buries his face in his hands, shoulders shaken by great, uncontrollable sobs.

The doctor presses a glass of rare Joburg water on him and a box of tissues made in China.

Do you actually expect any of these things to happen?

A shake of the head and another wipe with the tissues.

Then we're not so far gone that what you have can't be easily remedied. Wahnvorstellungen, Delusions of Normality, first identified by Erich von Strumpfnagel during the Hitler years. A condition affecting those who fail to understand and accept that the inmates have been running the institution for some time. Spend a few days in the Eastern Cape, Limpopo and at Home Affairs. I can guarantee you that not a single illusion will remain to haunt you.

Oh, Doctor, how can I thank you?

By paying cash. SARS is disembowelling me.

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The MTN Maze

Dear MTN

Please let us have your correct customer service number. Each time I call 135, I get through to a circus. And it's not even  entertaining.

You remind me so of Mr Zuma at his scintillating best. Just like his "Listen carefully", your "Please pay attention to our menu items" is followed by the purest gobbledygook available on the planet.

I am not interested in mobile money or any of the other treasures on offer. I just so desperately want to ask a breathing human being why the internet is suddenly not available, even after one of your technicians 'fixed' the problem for a few hours. That option (human conversation) is not on the menu, as far as I can discern.

Your recorded message tells me that you are improving your IVR (or something) - an automated service that I landed up at every time, regardless of menu choice. This would happen after a mind-bending journey through many-layered, intriguing but useless menu options. Why don't you just improve your service, period? You do realize that these Monty Python experiences are what send people postal or into institutions.

I eventually chose the fraud option and got to speak to a human being. At least, I think she was human. I asked her how one gets to speak to a human at MTN. "Dial 0 after 135". Why not include that among the menu items? Of course, it didn't work, but took me, to my delight, back into the mysterious MTN maze.

As your service seems to be based on the government model, let me quote:

"Consistent energy availability will ultimately lead to the end of loadshedding"

Well, consistent internet availability will ultimately lead to the end of frustration. 

The same message to you, as to our caring government departments. We are customers, not supplicants at your temples of indifference, inefficiency and buffoonery.

A postscript: many calls later, I was informed that there had been an unauthorized intrusion at a nearby tower. I was relieved that it was not an authorized intrusion. It would have been helpful to know that sooner, instead of fiddling around. But then again, I suppose  technicians work in mysterious ways. As, it seems, do our service providers. Incidentally, the problem is not a major one, I was told. That would explain why it's for only two days that I don't have internet. I imagine that we'd be looking at two years for a major problem.

Yours in the struggle to find real service.

Richard 

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Always Look on the Bright Side of Life

Dear Mr Ramaphosa 

I have begun to see loadshedding in a positive light - when there is light to see. 

Thank you for the zen-like advice.

The sublime wisdom of it lit up my inner consciousness like a battery of lights coming on after 3 hours of loadshedding, when, during a hospital visit, I overheard a man comforting his friend thus:

"Try to see this cancer in a positive light. When you die, in about six months, you will fully appreciate the new experience."

It was an Aha moment. "Aha", I cried, doing a couple of the dance steps that our electricity minister so ably demonstrated.  With the dawn of understanding, came many new insights.

I now fully understand the 'you may not have water, but at least you have taps' conundrum. I also see corruption and incompetence in a positive light. What fun we will have reminiscing, once you comrades have ridden off into the new dusk.

"Remember the skinny jeans for sutures saga? Ha, ha, ha."

"What about the statues and the Anglo-Boer War spirits in KZN. Tee, hee, hee."

"And the stuff that Apartheid used to do, burning buildings, stealing, stuffing up everything available for upstuffery. Ho, ho, ho."

"Oh, you're killing me! Covid and flood relief funds vanishing like Tokyo's trillions and the decuplets. Heh, heh, heh."

At these and other comforting thoughts, frustration vanished, replaced by joy, then something approaching ecstasy. Wait, that might have come from the puff of zol I'd taken in desperation, just before I heard your life-changing advice. 

I am drawn to the Eastern mysticism of this philosophical approach. Now, all I have to do is to find a way to view rampant crime in a positive light. But I'm sure that Mr Cele and various think tanks and commissions are hard at work. I fully expect that I shall soon see the sunny side of those murder and robbery statistics. 

I am so glad that the noise of generators in parliamentary villages and elsewhere has not distracted you comrades from this sort of strategic, nation-building thinking.

Yours in the struggle to always look on the bright side of life, accentuate the positive, stop to smell the sewa..., sorry, roses. Long live ANC, till 2024.

Richard 

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Again Apartheid

Dear Ms Zulu

I know that you have been totally engrossed in the grim, fierce battle against Apartheid, who reportedly set a building on fire in Johannesburg. 

You may not be aware that our pensions were not paid out yesterday, as promised. The reasons are as yet obscure.  Still, one does not need the sleuthing skills of a Sherlock Holmes. Nor does one need the finely honed deductive and logical skills of a deployed ANC cadre. There can be only one culprit, the aforesaid, rotten, racist villain, Apartheid. Aided and abetted, no doubt by White Monopoly Capital and van Riebeeck.

And, as in a good Sherlock Holmes novel, the plot thickened substantially. I began to write this friendly letter while queuing at a Capitec ATM. On inserting my trusty SASSA card, hope blossoming in my bosom, I received a printout with the glad news that there were indeed funds available  - a quarter of my pension. Apartheid had struck again. This is the second time that the villainous bastard has dipped his dirty hands into my pension money. Gas explosions, fires, theft, fraud, buffoonery, incompetence  - is there nothing that the swine will not stoop to? 

Ah well, here we go again. Up at three a.m. tomorrow to queue all day at SASSA. Then the delightful repartee, as I'm given a dozen reasons that my stolen pension cannot simply be refunded. Complicating matters is my failure to replace my lost identity document after only four futile visits to that bastion of post-apartheid excellence, Home Affairs. My own fault. I should have awoken at one a.m., not two a.m.  Apartheid is making our lives miserable.

Dr Google notes that you are a communication strategist, Ms Zulu. Your communication strategy during this little episode has been nothing if not interesting. Actually, it's been nothing.

I notice that all you comrades have synchronized your anti-apartheid watches and have been speaking, lately, with one voice against the damned villain. I now understand the significance of my dream of two days ago. I was in a savage battle with a fellow with the build of a rugby lock, wearing a 'Whites Only' tee-shirt. The meaning is clear: Apartheid is on the rampage. Thank goodness for you comrades.

Yours in the climactic struggle against Apartheid.

Richard 

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Struggle Songs

 When you ANC grootmense sing for your suppers, you do sing in harmony.

Your songsheet changed recently from 'xenophobia bad' to 'illegal immigration worse' a la Animal Farm 2023. A subtle lift of the conductor's baton and the altos and sopranos  soared gloriously in perfect harmony; Mr Ramaphosa's somewhat muffled, mumbled warbling,  Mr Mbalula's glass-shattering high notes, Ms Zulu's rather off-key contribution and the rest of the choir chiming in enthusiastically.

Of course, there's five more years worth of suppers to sing for. Who wouldn't pluck those vocal chords fot all they are worth? The apartheid song, like so many witless, lightweight pop songs, has been overplayed,  familiarity breeding scathing contempt. The choir sounds cracked, strained and reedy as it struggles to wring some meaning from badly dated, nonsensical lyrics. You need to plump up your repertoire as one might plump up a threadbare sofa with, say, dollar bills.

Though the  apartheid song has a nice 'one Scheiss fits all occasions' quality, you need to add old favourites such as such as Dis 'n Lekker Ou Jan van Riebeeck, The Damned Dutch East India Company, Send Out The Colonialists.

Let's not forget the newer ballads, recounting the vile deeds of spirits of Boer and English soldiers in KZN.

Let's not omit the machinations and depradations of White Monopoly Capital, Bill Gates, George Soros, the Stellenbosch Mafia, the White Privileged Ones. Apologies to anyone I've omitted. 

We will probably be forced to listen to more of your caterwauling post 2024. How good it would be to say:

'The song is ended though the malady lingers on.'

Oh, you might also like Money Makes The World Go Round, from Cabaret, Drink, Drink, Drink, from The Student Prince and Food, Glorious Food, from Oliver.

Happy singing.

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Chandon se Moer

Dear Patriotic Alliance People 

Good to see another party drinking champagne with our lips (as the ANC once did). This at a recent Johannesburg Roads Agency shindig. (They still have them - roads?).

The Moèt and Chandon flowed like the Tugela on its way to the ocean. There was a garbled speech about the pronunciation of Moèt. It would have been enough to say: "As ons moet drink, dan drink ons Moèt." It was the kind of mindless drivel that draws rapturous applause from those who are on a mystical plane - somewhere below see level.  A subterranean stage of mindlessness, similar to the raptures experienced  by those who yelled "hoor  hoor" to Nationalist Party gibberish. And to think that people spend years in remote caves trying to attain that state. Of course, many of our politicians might as well have been living in caves, remote from the realities of a country crumbling into compost.

Please remind us whether you were celebrating sewage in the streets, sewage that passes for service or the sewage that issues forth from various party mouths. I am not referring to the gentleman who answered a relevant question with "You stupid, racist white man." With a mouth like that, seemingly unhampered by moving parts in the brain, the stupidity of other people would be the least of my  concerns.

I like you politicians' single-mindedness . It's a wonderful "carry on regardless" approach to decay, disaster and doom. Reminds one of the old: 'come snow, come hail, nothing can stop the US mail' Yours is more like "come mud, come rain, we are always up for more champagne." Or, expressed a little more earthily in parts of the mining industry: "kyk noord en v..k voort."  And you surely know how to celebrate. Even when, or perhaps especially when, there is, in the winsome words of a minister, fokol to celebrate. With an attitude like that, you can't lose. Even if you do, you won't notice. What with your 'altitude', way up there beyond the slaughter and the sewage, 'determining your attitude'. 

At moments like these, one feels like bursting into song. Remember 'Chanson d'Amour'? Well, 'Chandon se Moer' would be quite appropriate.

Yours in the struggle to glug it down before the party ends. And end it will.

Richard

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O Tichmann 

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