How to discipline the Feselady

How to discipline the Feselady

THERE was a time when our Feselady used to be pissed by vile and snide comments thrown her way. Her bag of nicknames started swelling before she could even sit on the couch at the State House.
It was bursting at the seams even before she knew where to find the kitchen. Insults were raining on her from all corners and she was losing friends in droves.

Now she has grown a thick skin and no insult or nickname is new to her. Instead, she is giving herself new nicknames. Last week she told us that she is now Six Gun.
“I really don’t know but I have since realised that I am a six gun (type of spice) used to spice either potatoes or meat,” she said.
This was after Pascalinah Kabi, the only sister who seems to be working at that other newspaper stable, asked her “why people would use her as a scapegoat”.

The Feselady was peeved by allegations that she humiliated Sister Keke Rantšo by withdrawing State cars she deserved to use as acting Prime Minister in Uncle Tom’s absence.
It is not clear why the Feselady targeted Sister Keke but Muckraker suspects that it is because the RCL is generally seen as a squatter or hobo in this government.

It is that freeloading guest who gets pampered because it is related to some important Uncle. Even today the RCL cannot explain why it is a partner in this government. It has neither the votes nor the legislative seats to justify its presence.

Yet here it is, hobnobbing with the big boys in government. This probably explains the Feselady’s disgust at the idea of Sister Keke being the Acting Prime Minister.
You see, the Feselady already thinks she is the Prime Minister even when Uncle Tom is around. She is fine with Monyane Moleleki warming the Prime Minister’s chair when Uncle Tom is away because she is aware that Mokola is smart enough to know who really calls the shots.
The Feselady happily allows Brother ‘Maseribane to have a feel of the seat because he understands the dynamics in this government.

In any case, both Mokola and Brother ‘Maseribane are not competition to her. But Sister Keke is another matter altogether. Women have a reputation for forgetting their place.
They come in playing the entire makoti charade and then suddenly take over.
One day they are nyatsis and the next morning they are kicking out the real wives. You hire them as maids and they start winking at your man.
Sisters think they decide what their brother should do at his house. That’s just the way we are.

So the Feselady was probably worried that Sister Keke, a humble and good soul, might forget that she is a just a minister from a junior family in the clan. As such she had to be spanked before she gets any funny ideas.
It was unfair because Sister Keke is not known for sinister motives. She might be ambitious but she knows her limitations.

While Sister Keke was squirming at the end of a cat-o’-nine-tails from the State House the army was busy cobbling some statement bereft of substance.
You can read that statement 20 times but will remain ignorant about what exactly happened to sister Keke.

Keke herself was vexed at the brazenness of the attempt to cut her down to size. One moment she was Lesotho’s first female acting Prime Minister and the next she was being reminded that she is a mere minister and a very junior partner in the coalition government.
If that slap had come from Uncle Tom, Keke would not have protested too much. But this was a thunderous smack from a woman who is neither in government structures and has nor business deciding who gets what car.

As usual, the Feselady was quick to claim that her hands were clean. It wasn’t me, she said. She said someone, somewhere and somehow had taken the cars from Sister Keke but they were using her as a scapegoat.
She defended herself until she announced her new nickname: Six Gun.
Muckraker doesn’t know how much thought the Feselady put into that one but it sure fits because of her talent at multitasking. Any woman will tell you that the Six Gun spice is the universal charger of spices. The master key of spices. It’s dirt cheap and works anywhere.

You can use it to spice papa, beetroot, makoenya, bread or moroho, and even water. Muckraker suspects that concoction can cure a cold because you never know what’s in there.
For all we know there might be come grass and cow dung in there. The power of Six Gun is that it does everything except that which it is supposed to do: improve the taste and aroma.
And that is why the Feselady should be applauded for that rare moment of genius to call herself Six Gun. She has been accused of hiring and firing ministers.

Some say she will not hesitate to chastise government officials. They say she can instruct ministers, principal secretaries or directors.
Remember how she spanked officials from the Ministry of Public Works over potholes in Maseru.
An Ambassador once had his ears pinched at a banquet. Many will recall the woman she clobbered at Maseru Private Hospital.
Then there was the waiter who was tongue lashed. Indeed, she is Six Gun. The only trouble is that she doesn’t want people to see her as Six Gun.
Yet even as she protested loudly about her Six Gun reputation she could not resist the temptation to live up to that self-bestowed nickname.

“People use me as a scapegoat even in situations where I have excused myself, given them space to do their job and this is annoying me,” she said.
There you have it. Six Gun sometimes has to excuse itself from certain pots. Sometimes Six Gun admits that Robertson spice can do a better job.
But it also admits that it is always itching to get some action in every dish.

So how can we control our Feselady? So far everything we have tried has not worked. Insults will not help. More nicknames are of no use because she is now so accustomed to them that she is making up her own.
Screaming on radio stations is useless. Telling Uncle Tom to keep her on a short leash will not achieve anything.
Mahao and his crew are failing to deal with her.

Reporting her shenanigans in newspapers will not achieve much because she doesn’t read them.
Your Facebook and Whatsapp rants are just farts. She is not there to hear you screaming about her at your stokvel meetings.
Muckraker grappled with this question until she stumbled upon a solution last week.

The only way to control the Feselady is to show her the Secondary school Mathematics book for it is the only thing that has ever humbled her.
Remind her of the torrid time she had trying to solve those simple equations. Tell her how classmates would chuckle when she was called to the front to solve those simple math problems. Only that book will put her in her rightful place.

Back in high school in Mafube, Muckraker would watch in amazement as those girls who thought were stunning would suddenly become ugly during the Mathematics class.
The garrulous ones would shut up. The pompous would suddenly mellow and disappear under their desks.
We were all equal in the face of that book for it didn’t care how you look, speak or eat.

Your tummy could be full of cereal but that book would still make it roil.
Muckraker watched as cute faces, smeared with Dawn lotion, suddenly became ashen at the sight of that book.
Forget the headmasters and the strict teachers. The real disciplinarian was that book. It reduced heroes to zeroes. Bullies would turn into puppies.

It reminded prefects that they were still students. Rich kids suddenly became poor after opening it. Such was the power of that book.
That is why Muckraker highly recommends it as a tool to discipline the Feselady. When she starts misbehaving someone should just shout: “She has started again, bring that book!”

Lastly, Muckraker is aware of the contentious debate about the correct day to observe the Sabbath but that is a topic for another day.
For now she has a simple request to believers. She is humbly pleading with all pastors, bishops and so-called prophets to put in a prayer for Lefu Manyokole.

The prayer should go like this: “Oh, dear Lord may you give Manyokole the wisdom to always remember that the world does not revolve around him. Teach him humility.
Oh Lord, grant him the wisdom to know that what goes around comes around. That those who rise shall fall. That gravity is not only a physics concept but a reality of life.

That nothing lasts forever. Never to confuse privilege for talent. Never to give himself undue credit for what he has become. To remember that he serves at another man’s pleasure.
Open his eyes to the reality that those in high offices shall one day come back to the streets to hobnob with us lowly commoners of little power.
Show him the multitudes of comrades who once flew high but have landed back to Mother Earth with a thud. Teach him to appreciate that it’s not every DJ who stumbles onto a high political office. That humility doesn’t hurt. Amen!”

You can still assist even if you believe in the ancestors. Fill your cup to the brim with hopose and then pour a few drops on the ground while muttering the following words.

“My dear ancestors please cast your gaze wider to also look at Lefu. I am worried about his manners, especially to those he considers beneath his lofty perch in this perishable thing called government. I know he is not your business but it might help make this place a better place if you remind him that his long wings are temporary. If you are not interested in his wilful ways then surely my grief is your concern. As such, may you direct me on the paths that don’t meet his for I know his tongue has a horrible habit.”

If you are a non-believer you can help future generations by telling your kids never to follow in Manyokole’s ways. Hold your boy’s ears and twist them a little bit while looking him in the eye.
Now use the other hand to point at Qhobosheaneng Complex and say: “Son! If ever you enter those offices, be mindful of the pitfalls of power.
‘Do not be tempted to behave like Lefu who now pees on those below him. Then show him the pictures of the likes of Qoo, Size Two, and Metsing to illustrate that Qhobosheaneng is not a permanent home to those who enter it.’’

Nka! Ichuuuuuuuuuuu!

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