…Aaand we’re back.

It was said today at the Farlam Commission of Inquiry that the Marikane shooting bruhaha has been the most disturbing incident in our democracy.

To say that this piece of information comes as a relief is a great understatement.

You need to understand that for the last year or so, I have believed that it was me, not Marikana.

Goes to show how bad press can ruin ones day, as it were.

 

Smashing! Wonderfull! “Twas not me!

The sacrifices that I make!

In the light of Pravin Gordhan’s latest little money talk and given that next year is an election year, I have decided to heed his advice and do a few cut-backs myself.

Financially speaking of course.

So henceforth, as it were, all deliveries made to Nkandla (that bastion of freedom) containing purchases etc made at tax payers expense, shall be made to the gate and no longer to the front door.

The reason being is that the drive to the front door is long and thus a waste of petrol and tax payers’ hard earned cash.

 

You got to let me go to his front door. I have his DSTV magazine!

 

So, there it is, Mr Gordhan, my bit for the financial stability of this country.

Please don’t ask more of me!

 

 

Where have all my followers gone?

I have noticed, with a growing sense of irritation, that some of my twitter followers have been abandoning the proverbial ship.

So Gwede (that’s Mantashe) and I sat down around some Johnny Walker Blue (that’s Whiskey) to figure out where the problem lies, as it were.

Me first.

I have discovered a parody twitter account by the name of Jacob G. Zuma (note the period), aka @SAPresident. Now this account comes complete with that stupid little Nike tick at the end, which I am advised by my advising advisors, means that it is a gen-u-wine (that’s American talk) and verified twitter account.

WTF? (that’s Welcome to Facebook).

Now the bupkiss (that’s British colonialists talk) that this parody account comes up with is ludicrous. (that’s the Truth).

For example: Over the last decade, six of the world’s ten fastest growing economies were in Africa.

And: Let us celebrate the Jubilee by promoting peace, unity, dignity and prosperity in our beloved continent! Happy Africa Day to all!

I mean, with all due respect, who pens this sort of stuff?

I have my suspicions. Enter Stage Left: Jackson Mthembu. (that’s theatre talk)

I have noticed Jackson clickety clickety clacking away on the new Blakburry he bought a few weeks back when we went to Chinatown. And discrete inquiries with my service provider tell me that Twitter on a cellular telephone is the next big thing.

So it is apparent that some of my followers are following the tick, as it were. Let me say this – just ‘cos he drives a nice BMW with leather seats and low profiles, don’t mean he’s gonna be nice to you, sweetie!

Hey JZ, my bra! You sure this is what they talk about when they say “Tweeting”? Where is the hashtag button?

Now Gwede, on the other hand, believes that it may have had something to do with my duck tweet of a few weeks back.

Given that Gwede is the more intelligent of the two of us, I am inclined to accept his reasoning.

An open Apology.

I have never been one for writing, hence the poorly drafted secrecy bill.

For that I apologise.

Oh, and for Winnie Mandela as well.

There, I said it!

Who’s your Daddy?

So, anyway, I was having tea the other day (as one does) with a certain unnamed source at Nkandla (lovingly refurbished and upgraded by you, the caring taxpayer) and during the course of the conversation, we got on to the topic of how hard and boring it is to be the man at the top (as one does), how no one really respects me anymore, as it were and that I feel that I may have lost my purpose and/or moral compass.

It was decided that I needed to rediscover my sense of self, my well-being, my happiness.

And what does one do to make one’s self feel better?

Right!

You pick on someone and bully them!

The selection of the candidate was rather difficult, simply because we started at the end of the alphabet (ignoring the Z’s for obvious reasons) and randomly chose V, as one does, to avoid a lenghty debate over appropriateness.

And whose surname starts with a V?

Yes! V for Vavi!

I made some calls, but have since discovered that Brett Kebble is dead, China Dodovu has a prior engagement and Glynnis Breytenbach is no longer talking to me.

So we were left to spreading rumours and allegations, like high school girls at break time.

Things like financial irregularities, handshakes in darkened doorways, black bags of cash. None of which we have any evidence for, of course.

But now things have gotten out of hand. Completely.

This thing, this candle, or whatever it is, I found it in my desk drawer, ok?

Vavi is saying he knows who is out to get him. He is vowing to fight this fight, which fight is not really a fight, but rather a fight over who is the bigger boy on the playground.

At least in my opinion.

I have lost the joy again, that initial rush of happiness and now I need to do something else to make me feel better.

I know, I am going to do some therapy shopping. Nkandla needs a new tv room!

 

Changing Names – The Real Reasons – Conclusion (Part 3)

So there we have it:

The real reason why we change city, town and street names.

In a nutshell, as it were, I have tax payers money at my disposal. I need to spend it, but not on the opportunities listed previously.

Still with me?

To do so would defeat the object, namely my own.

You must however, understand that I still need to do something to show the masses that I/we are with them and what better way to do so by changing street names after people most of us have no clue who or what they are.

It is the fantastic diversionary tactic of honouring the so-called “Struggle Heroes”. And at the end of the day, people forget that they had to take a crap in the bushes, they forget that they have schooling till Grade 3, they forget that they are desperately ill, because once they tell others: “I took January Masilela into town this morning. You know, used to be Church street, now January Masilela. The struggle hero”, all is well with the world.

Simple!

Finally, let the grand old Swazi King Mswati III be an example of what not to do. When faced with the opportunity of spending his voters’ money on changing street names or buying an aircraft, guess what he did?

He went with the plane.

Hey! Don’t touch me on my private jet! OK? Don’t touch me on my private jet!

And now? Now he has nowhere to park it.

Specifically not on January Masilela street!

 

Changing Names – The Real Reasons (Part 2) (B) Service Delivery

Right, let’s get back to the Name Changes game and the second reason as to why we do so: SERVICE DELIVERY.

Touchy subject.

This, son, is a multifaceted issue which needs to be navigated with a very good spokesperson by your side. preferably someone as thick-skinned and ignorant as Mr F Shivambu. Why? Because eventually someone’s “gonna get it in the neck” and it sure as … aint going to be me.

Now, let me get straight to the point:

Spending money on service delivery is dangerous!

Why?

Because it makes “them” used to a certain type of lifestyle, like enclosed flush toilets (See Democratic Alliance, Western Cape), running water and municipal waste collection. And once they are used to a certain lifestyle, as it were, they want a better one than the one they already have. And so on and so on, with the end result being that some idiot wants to move into the palace.

Which, obviously, is unacceptable!

Look! Look how dirty. First I have to poo in the bushes, then use the leaves to wipe. Ag sies man!

In any event I have a more important lifestyle to maintain and a much more expensive one at that, to be contributing tax payers money to the comfort of others.

Simple.

That said, there is one very important exception to with holding service delivery and that, my son, is around election time. When touting for votes before elections (a completely unnecessary process in my case), it is useful to promise service delivery and then to very partially deliver on these promises. In other words, dig a few holes for latrines, mark out borders for housing and the such like. And once the elections are over, TADAAAA! all work can halt due to a “lack of funds from the community”. Works like a charm every time. Gets everybody in the same boat, as it were.

An added benefit of these silly promises is that you can put the jobs out to tender and have family members “win”. Ah yes, the tax payer has deep, deep pockets to pay for this frivolity. (If you know what I mean).

Lastly, on the issue of service delivery or the lack thereof, is that at some stage, it leads to protests, led by colonial rabble rousers. And this gives rise to?

Yes!

An opportunity to flex one’s muscles in the form of a police action. Enter stage left, Mr Sebenza Whataboy Ditlopo (Lovely man).

That is all.

 

An argument in favour of corruption (or a justification thereof).

 

This will always be a contentious issue, trust me.

That being said, I wish to start on a different topic all together:  African income.

What is “African income”?, you ask. My point exactly, what is it?

I will tell you: It is a term of reference that does not exist. A sleight of hand. A non-existent idea created by the 1st world to assist them in sleeping at night. A shadowy ghost that haunts the dreams and alley ways of shanty towns just before dawn.

Look at the earning power of the average Sipho living under my great friend Bob M. What have they got in their threadbare pockets to spend on christmas this year? Nothing. The same question may be asked of those who find themselves residing in the Sudan, as it were.

Why is this so, you may ask. This question must, needs be answered by a further question: How many of Bob’s or Omar Hassan Ahmad al-Bashir’s (akaعمر حسن أحمد البشير‎) plebs have work, which work generates a small, yet steady income?

I suspect that you may already know the answer.

Correct.

Almost zero.

And if one has no “effective” employment, one does not earn. And if one does not earn, one does not eat. And if one does not eat, one dies.

Eventually.

Now this begs the next question. If so much of Africa is unemployed, how on earth do so many survive, how do so  many still drive around in flashy cars wearing flashy sun glasses and live in flashy houses?

Heheheh, you won't believe what I just bought and where I got the cash from to do so, heheheh

To answer this question one needs to return to my original point: an argument for corruption and the dire need therefor.

I suggest, no, I insist that corruption is not found in greed and the desire for more wealth, more possessions, more fame, but is found in the begging bowl of need. It may be argued that corruption, for want of a better definition is merely an alternate form of employment and an income generating activity. Thats the ugly truth. Many might not like this fact, but there it is.

At the end of the day, I say: let them eat cake.