I am told that there are certain factions within the “Beloved Mighty Movement” that intend to see me come to some sort of harm.
Firstly, this is par for the course. There will always be those that would like to see one meet with some sort of accident. Case in point, Samora M, a local leader and neighbour who met with a tragic event, generated, some say by dark forces who, through a long and convoluted journey, wished to marry his wife. Another poor soul was a certain Samual D who was tortured for a can of Budweiser. Poor Sam had his ear cut off for the world’s worst beer. What a shame.
Secondly, this will never, ever change. As long as there is Africa, there will be those that have and those that want. (Forget about the have-nots. They make up the voting public and are only to be worried about at election time). Those that want will always try and take from those of us that have what they want. See Liberia, the DRC (previously Zaire – someone wanted a name change, it seems) and Kenya. Forget about Zimbawe, nobody wants what they have.
Thirdly, just because someone wants your office, or your medals, that does not mean that you have to give it to them.
Fourthly, and related to thirdly, giving someone what they want, does not mean them taking what they want from you. In other words, surround yourself with yes-men. Men who do what you say, agree with your policies & politics and proclaim to be loyal to your leadership. How do you generate yes-men? By giving them what they want. A further aide de comp that you may want to keep close and entrust to certain highlevel positions of power is what is called “the muscle”. In my case, Mr Sebenza Whataboy Ditlopo. This is your go-to man when you need a bit of, how shall I say it…a show of who really is in charge.
I'm watchin' you, boy!
Fifthly, never trust anybody. Always sleep alone and with one eye open.
Watch your back, boy!
I have just returned from my annual skiing holiday, (this year in the Swiss Alps) feeling rather irritable, moody and ready to smack. Chief among reason(s) being:
- Air Eritrea does not fly direct to the Alps. This necessitated a connecting flight from Ethiopia, a ferry crossing (there and back), numerous taxis, 2 trains (only 1 second class berth though), a donkey and a bottle of six-day old milk.
- I had to fly Air Eritrea because my 1st private jet is in for repairs, after we attempted a mock bombing run (or “dry run” as it were), on the opposition’s strong hold area. (A story for another day).
- I could not fly via my 2nd private jet as it had gone ahead of me to deliver luggage etc. This was necessitated by being grossly overweight at check-in. (For all you nay-sayers, please note that some rules in Africa are in fact adhered too, even if they make no sense at the time. It may have something to do, however, with the request for and exchange of money, usually American Dollars).
- I could not fly my 3rd private jet as it was on loan to Air Eritrea. (One makes one’s income as and when).
- I was over come with fear upon learning that there was a Christmas Undiebomber on the loose, targeting innocent aircraft and their equally innocent passengers. (I had yet to fly home).
- Fear turned to relief when I realised that the bomber was targeting a specific ideology (and Eritrea is no longer on the world stage as an ideology, unlike the US of A), yet bearing in mind that in Africa, a righteous anger need not have a specific target, it is the execution thereof that is the object. Thus my relief was not complete, you understand.
- Relief became fear again when I was informed that the undiebomber was from Nigeria and hence, probably dumb enough to climb onto my plane by accident. He was dumb enough to place a bomb in his underpants and then not get it going, so anything is/was possible with this buffoon.
The only ray of sunshine was when I was advised, upon my illustrious return, by my Minister of Inland Security, Mr Sebenza Whataboy Ditlopo that a certain Finance Minister had been caught working in his office during the Christmas period. Now, I am of the blunt opinion that if one is unable to hide one’s incompetency behind one’s Ministers, then they serve no purpose whatsoever. The specific Minster’s dedication and hard work puts me in a bad light and affords me no excuse, nor scapegoat, as it were, when things do go wrong. (And they probably will). Hence Mr Sebenza Whataboy Ditlopo performed the necessary removal from office, or as those in important political circles (not mine, mind you) like to call such events: purging.
But, a decent purge is as good as a holiday, I always say.