Degrees Of Separation

Dear Mr Steenhuisen

 Now that you occupy a bottom - scorching seat at our national political table, it's important that we settle this matter. 

 You were once made fun of over post - matric qualifications. I too, suffered similar indignities. Worse, it was rumoured that the signatures on my matric certificate closely resembled my own elegant flourish. I am therefore in your corner, sir. I offer this advice. 

I ignored the juvenile stuff on social media. Girded up my loins, stiffened my upper lip and relevant sinews and paid the price. R500 for a first degree, purchased at the Germiston taxi rank. A further R1000 for a masters - on production of a first certificate, of course. Academic standards must be maintained. 

 Of course, success is sweetest purchased with blood, sweat, tears and other glandular secretions. I recommend our cutting edge solution (we cut the edges off long-winded texts). We have modelled our college on the highly successful version that produced scholars, poets, generals and other people of substance in happier times of old. One needed to answer only two questions in order to graduate. The examination was often conducted from horseback (I don't have a horse but can borrow a neighbour's bakkie). 

We have contracted the three year degree to six months. Why waste years in musty classrooms? The prime contribution of many 'educated' people on our continent has been to support demagogues, buffoons and thugs in speeding us down the excrement- coated slide to ruin. 

 Tuition fees? We accept EFTs but prefer brown envelopes and filled black garbage bags, in line with custom and practice. You will enjoy our Politics 101 course. Some of the modules: 

 Cultural Significance Of Braais And Food Parcels In Election Campaigns

 Power Of Populist Prattle 

Marching For Power And Profit

 The Concepts Of Elasticity, Fluidity And Malleability As Applied To Language And Conduct In South African Politics 

 State Capture Simplified 

 Some may question our approach to tertiary education. Let me point out that Newton made a significant discovery while happily munching on an apple and being clobbered by another. Archimedes did likewise in the midst of a relaxing bath. Our own former president spoke of the power of the shower. The pillars of a sound education are good nutrition and good hygiene. Let's not muddle and mystify simple basics. 

 We look forward to hearing from you. 

 Yours in the struggle for relevant education.

 Richard

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O Tichmann 

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Radical Pillaging

Dear Crooked Politicians And Public Servants 

As Secretary General of TABA (Theft And Burglary Association), I write to you now more in sorrow than in anger. You ignored our heartfelt plea for moderation. To quote Kenneth Kaunda, we came in the spirit of give and take and now we come in the spirit of take (something to that effect). Those words will surely resonate with you. 

You have besmirched and brought into disrepute our noble profession. Our reputation and brand are in tatters. Putting the slightest spin on the words of the Danish prince: 'They clepe us hogs and with swinish phrase soil our addition'.

Not only do you rob rich, poor and utterly destitute indiscriminately but you indulge in the vilest of anti-competitive behaviour. We do not pretend to be anything but what we are: proud carriers of the traditions of Robin Of Locksley, Ned Kelly and other patron saints. You, hyenas in sheep's clothing, hide behind positions, titles and unsavoury alliances. You are also guilty of the worst form of insider trading, which we frown upon. Come out of the closet, we say. 

Even the mafia, whom we despise, have a code of honour. "Never was so much stolen from so many by so few", to quote some English chap. We have declared you a kind of South African ronin, bandits without boundaries (with apologies to the ronin, who had principles).

Let it be known that we have struck you off the roll of professional thieves and burglars. Further, expect correspondence from our legal counsel. A class action lawsuit wiil follow should you not cease and desist. And also stop your nonsense.

 Yours in disgust. 

 Peter Pompies

 Secretary General TABA

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Game Of Clowns

It was the worst of times, as was once written. Confusion and fear followed plague, battering the land like a fearsome winter storm. 

The Wildings, in disarray after the onslaught of the armies of King Ram Pozaar, were defiant still. Lord MacGushla, charged with treason, had chosen trial by combat and was still breathing fire and slaughter while protesting his innocence. Lord Nayous, his faithful companion, rode forth daily, clad in full armour, in a fearsome show of strength. Alongside marched his fiercely loyal troops. The land trembled for he was a fine, warlike figure of a man. No longer young in years, the warrior's heart beat yet within his breast. Upon the graves of his ancestors he swore that justice would prevail. 

In the marketplaces the word went forth that this alliance went after a new religion. A strange god named Welthanpower. Lord Zumair, in a fit of anger, left the courts of the king for his castle in the eastern hills. It was whispered abroad that the Night Watch were to lay siege to his castle. The nation held its breath.

 The legend of the White Walkers was again on many lips. But from the central plains poured forth a new army, the Red Walkers and they spread across the land like the flood. According to legend, Lord Malma, Commander In Chief, saw in a vision upon a mountain the future laid bare and spoke thus to his armies: "I have been to the mountain top and I have seen the promised land. And it is ours". Defeated at Castle Brackenfell, they cared nothing but uttered curses and threats against the Night Watch. As for Lord Chella, commander of the Night Watch, he held his peace and bade his men stand fast. 

And as allegiances crumbled and reformed and the very air turned cold with threats, oaths and curses, the people knew not which way to turn. 

Thus, in the southern lands, is played the Game Of Clowns.

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Close Encounters SA

Dear Fellow South Africans

 I am often plagued by ominous dreams peopled by Ground Forces, ANC luminaries, municipal councillors and other scary figures.

 Last night's was the mother of nightmares. I had had a nutritious fishcake supper and spent the day on some light reading by assorted ANC and EFF thinkers. I cannot attribute the dream to any disturbances to psyche or digestive system. 

 I was aboard an alien spacecraft in the sleek, aerodynamic shape of a Joburg street legwinya. A massive screen displayed images and video of South Africa. The aliens, pleasant enough in demeanour and appearance, were dressed in Star Trek type attire. A Ms Hofmeyr lookalike pressed a coke into my hand. "Have no fear, Earthling", she said. "We are on a fact finding mission and merely seek your help in confirming a few things". 

 I relaxed to the extent that one can relax on an alien spacecraft. Footage of potholes, speeding taxis and mounds of rubbish in downtown Joburg appeared. "This is your world class city?" I shifted uncomfortably and thought that I heard a suppressed snigger but aliens don't snigger ( I think). 

Crystal clear footage followed. Taxi operators were punching, kicking and slashing opponents. "Your cutting edge business model," she commented, with what might have been a smirk, except that aliens don't smirk either. 

 Footage of Brackenfell, Senekal and various EFF gatherings followed. "Some of these people are your legislators?" The aliens were leaning forward with inscrutable expressions and a strange gleam in their eyes. Footage of a punchup in parliament followed. "Ah, and here they are legislating", said the Ms Hofmeyr lookalike. This time, the chortling was unmistakable. 

 I covered my embarrassment as best I could while the footage switched to Mr Zuma dancing outside a courtroom, enjoying a hearty laugh in the house and striding from the commission venue. "You elected this man to lead. Hmm. A talented dancer. We can see why you elected him twice". The aliens nearest me had the good grace to try to look solemn but the rest had discarded any pretence. A Judge Zondo lookalike had tears streaming down his face as he rocked with laughter. 

 Oh, the horror. 

I was shown footage of parliamentary debates, failed projects, crumbling infrastructure and more. Several politicians were depicted, speaking against corruption and trundling out promises. All restraint forgotten, the aliens hooted and roared with laughter until I could stand it no more. Our various ethics and integrity bodies sent them into frightening paroxsyisms of mirth. 

Mercifully, we eventually hovered over a deserted Free State dairy farm. An alien resembling some actor I couldn't place, said "We'll be back" and I was deposited on good South African soil. 

 I earnestly plead for assistance from an expert dream interpreter and a good psychologist. Pro bono, of course. 

 Yours in the struggle against apocalyptic nightmares.

 Richard

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Banana Peel Republic

Dear ANC And Fellow South Africans

 I thought that the era of the clowns was over. That the curtain had come down on the long, irksome, painful comedy. Ending with the gentleman who recently took his long walk to further infamy. 

 There are the silly clowns who make children laugh. There are the sinister clowns of horror movies. Only those who have slept through the movie don't know which category you belong to. And that goes for the scarlet clad clowns who prance and posture while the country burns. As if opportunities for grandstanding actually equate to achievement. 

 Of course it was not even the beginning of the end. Merely the beginning of another downward spiral. It is exhausting to catalogue the comedy of horrors. 

We have appointed people to serve in important positions whose qualifications, inclinations and abilities suited them only for the lowest kind of comedy. We should not be surprised that most things that government touch turn in an instant to human waste. That's what happens when all frolic and none leads. The waste seeps into every orifice of government. It all emanates from leadership.

 Observe the queues at any government department and see how much your government holds you in contempt, people of South Africa. Some attention to process, some leadership - all-day queues dont have to be a fact of life. Especially not for mothers with babies and the elderly. Nothing in this resembles the democracy we fought for. I would guess that the Bosasa queues were a lot easier than the SASSA queues. 

 We are a banana peel republic. Cabinet ministers and every level of leadership down to the supervisor of that government department you queue at, gives you the finger. Serving is the last thing on their minds. 

If it were otherwise, you would be treated as if your life mattered. 

 This has to be the most high - priced, dreadful circus imaginable.

 Richard

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Cape Of Good Hope

There's much to enjoy in Cape Town. 

A friendly city in many respects. Signposting, service, history and beauty preserved in buildings and gardens, friendly people and more. It pains me to say it but dear Durban, with all its vibrant sights, sounds, scents and great rugby team, comes second (close second). Surely a world class African city - but that title's taken. 

Then, there's no escaping or forgetting our elected national government. The simple act of signing for UIF, a five minute exercise, becomes a nightmare / comedy of the absurd. For three days running, the building has no power. The feeling of powerlessness is heightened by a profound absence of communication of any kind. Is this what it felt like in the socialist people's paradises? 'Waiting For Godot' starts to make sense.

 A second act follows. At the railway station, I am sold a ticket for a train that never turns up. I remember a time when trains made getting around in Cape Town a joy. Yes, I know. There are far bigger, deeper problems. This was just a government hors d'oeuvre. Precisely what makes our predicament so desperate. 

Which came first: the ANC or the omelette of incompetence, leaderlessness and corruption? 

 I thought Western Cape independence was a whimsical notion. It starts to make sense.

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Judge Not

Dear Mr Zuma

 I don't know if it's my fevered imagination but Judge Zondo does seem to have a rather sinister smile. As a general rule, I trust judges even less than Mr Malema trusts black lawyers. The Good Book says 'judge not' and they are in perpetual, flagrant disobedience of that command. The whole thing with black robes I also find unnecessarily intimidating and menacing.

You are understandably reluctant to appear before a judge you perceive to be intent on finding you guilty. In an attempt to be helpful I have done several internet searches for judges keen to find people innocent. Please hang in there. Still searching.

 My own black book had only one entry under J: Julius. I doubt that he will be of much help now.

 Some advice in the interim. The spies and saboteurs theme went quite well, in my view, in your first appearance. Why not expand on it? It certainly beats Ms Kwinana's fatcake analogy as an attention-getter. It also makes for good television drama and the last few commission episodes have been rather like the Karoo - dry and flat. You have already named several witnesses who were "fetched". A good, solid start, sir. Not all that dissimilar to the Trump offense / defence.

 I have several other red herr..., pardon, issues that can be thrown into the pot. We have not even touched on the Stellenbosch Mafia. And I trust that you still have in your possession the beans you once threatened to spill. But, to quote Maximus Gallus, the renowned Roman legislator, one step at a time. These things we can discuss, perhaps over a spicy bean stew.

 Yours in the struggle for justice, fairness, equity and a few other things. 

 Richard

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