Jokers are in the house

Jokers are in the house

HERE goes a joke doing rounds on social media. Uncle Tom visited the Queen of England for a heart-to-heart talk. Over tea, Uncle Tom asked the Queen: “Your Majesty, how do you run such an efficient government?
“It’s simple, you just appoint smart people into your government,” the Queen replied.
“Mmmmm, but how do you know they are smart people?”
Uncle Tom asked as he leaned forward, supposedly to glean some of the Queen’s wisdom.
“It’s simple. Just ask them a simple riddle and see how they answer,” the Queen said.
Uncle Tom shakes his head to show he is desperate for an illustration to completely understand the import of the Queen’s lesson. And as if on cue the Queen calls Teresa May.
“Teresa, your mother and father have a child who is neither your brother nor your sister. Who is that child?” asked the Queen.

Teresa smiles and says: “The child is me, your Majesty.”
“You see, this is what I am talking about,” the Queen said to Uncle Tom as Teresa May tiptoes out of the room.
Uncle Tom jumps with excitement and bids the Queen farewell, so sure that he has found the best way to check if his cabinet is brimming with dunderheads.
And as soon as he landed back home, Uncle Tom called Defence Minister Tefo Mapesela to his office. “Mapesela, your mother and father have a child neither your brother nor your sister. Who is that child?”
Mapesela looks at Uncle Tom with a blank face.
He tried to count his fingers but quickly remembers that Uncle Tom is asking for a name, not a number.
After five minutes, Mapesela hung his head on his shoulder and said to Uncle Tom: “Eish, ha ke shoo Mohlomphehi. E thata ntho ena. Give me four days to investigate.”

So Mapesela hunted for what he believed was an elusive answer. Because his friend Phori was not available, Mapesela went straight to Deputy Prime Minister Monyane Moleleki’s office.
“Ntate Moleleki, please help me with this riddle. Your mother and father have a child but it’s neither your brother nor your sister. Who is that child?”
“That’s simple young man. That child is me,” Moleleki says.
Two days later Mapesela walked into Uncle Tom’s office with a jump in his step. You know the spring that accompanies your step when you have the right answer.
“Ntate Prime Minister, I have the answer to that riddle,” Mapesela says.
“And what is the answer?” Uncle Tom asks.

“That child is Ntate Moleleki,” Mapesela says with a wide grin on his excited face.
Uncle Tom is horrified and bangs his desk. “Stupid Man, the child is not Moleleki but Teresa May. Now get the hell out of my office,” Uncle Tom says with a disgusted look on his face.
May good things come to whoever cooked this delicious joke.
We need such to survive this toxic little territory we call home.
But if you are not laughing you need prayers or an urgent brain surgery. Whatever your choice, may you be saved from yourself.

Muckraker has done the diagnosis but she won’t partake in your redemption. She is sick to the back teeth with trying to infuse some commonsense in this country that is hostile to logic.
Henceforth, she will just watch as suckers parade in the streets with gusto.
Her obsession with saving morons ended last Sunday after a brief interaction with three MPs. It was an unfortunate encounter because it left Muckraker depressed.
The loser, of course, is not Muckraker but the dimwits she has been trying to save for years.
They are on their own, thanks to the tosh the MPs puked in their brief chat with Muckraker. Adios!

Curiosity killed the cat, so goes the mundane saying every writer should avoid unless someone has a gun to their head.
Forgive Muckraker for using it because the absurdity in our parliament is like a gun to her head.
It’s a loaded gun to the rest of the country.
In that brief chat the three MPs had wrestled for a chance to describe what was going to happen to Uncle Tom on Monday.
“He is out,” said the one with a funny hair cut that looks like he had just shaved with an axe.
“This time we have him by the neck,” said the chubby one with a jacket so oversized that you would think he executed every tailor in the country.
Kkkkkkkk, we are saying this time we got him by the b****,” said the tall one who obviously forgot to wipe mafi off his mouth.

“He is cornered,” said the hideous haircut chap.
The plump one chipped in: “His time is over. He is finished.”
Muckraker could hear Mr. Mafi-all-over-the-mouth howling with laughter as she walked away.
You may ask what contribution the blabbermouth called Muckraker made to that chat.
She nodded, faked a laugh, nodded again, yawned a bit and then invented an excuse to escape. When a woman says “nature calls” even the most foolish man knows she is desperate for some fresh air somewhere far from them. Sometimes you have to be uncouth to escape people who don’t read body language like a yawn.

The encounter only reinforced Muckraker’s view that the trouble with our politicians is that they have very little between their ears and they are a predictable bunch.
You can smell their schemes from miles away.
By the time they knock on your door to deliver what they suppose is a sucker punch your spear is already sharpened. For weeks, some MPs have been threatening to upend Uncle Tom’s government with a no confidence motion.
They were all over radio stations, threatening thunder and fury when parliament opens.
The gullible masses were sold on that one-legged tactic. Journalists, always the naïve tribe, went into frenzy as they tried to give oomph to a plan even goats knew was going to fail.
It was obvious to anyone with a brain the size of a rosehip fruit that the MPs were galloping to their own failure.
And indeed they hit a brick wall on Monday.
Boom! Oh, boom!

There was some shouting, screaming and cursing from the benches but the wheels to the inevitable were in motion.
The Speaker pocked holes into the ‘confidence motion’ until all that remained were words that sounded like gibberish. The motion was flawed both legally and procedurally, the Speaker said to a stunned horde of MPs who, until that point, thought they were brandishing a machine gun against Uncle Tom.
As the MPs fumed the Speaker twisted the knife in their bums by announcing that the parliament will adjourn sine die.
That another way to say parliament has been closed till-I-don’t-care-when.
Soon the MPs were trooping out of parliament wearing long faces.
Once again, they have been defeated.
They will have to wait for another four months to cook up another plot.
Yet you can be sure that even those four months are not enough time to contrive a fresh strategy. They will still rehash the same motion with another mistake the Speaker can exploit to sabotage it with another sine die.
The merry-go-round will persist for the next two years or so as the MPs keep flogging this dead donkey. Meanwhile Uncle Tom, Feslady, his cahoots and a band of bootlickers will be running the show.

Over the next four months they will try to use two more strategies that are bound to dismally fail. The first is to scream at Uncle Tom to reopen parliament.
The MPs call this “pressure” because they labour under the illusion that Uncle Tom gives a rat’s about what the public thinks of him.
“Open the parliament. Just open it!” they will say.
Uncle Tom will not open a parliament planning his ouster. He might not have understood the Queen’s riddle but he knows when a train is about to ram him.
He is old, not stupid.
When the ‘pressure’ strategy fails they will move to the third phase of the tactic: begging SADC to intervene. This is always their last resort. It’s what we do here: fight, fight, fight, fight and then ask strangers to mediate.
Muckraker is sure that this route too will fail because this is not 2014.

Circumstances have changed. There are skirmishes in the government but none terrible enough to worry SADC. There are no visible fights among the coalition partners.
The military has largely stayed in the barracks where it should remain until called upon to dig some trenches, build bridges and clear snow in the mountains (These people are trained to ignore pain but never get to do any hard work).
The police are largely content after being pampered with a six percent salary increase when every other civil servant got zero.

What threatens the government is the chaos in the ABC but that cannot be reason enough for SADC to step in.
The allegation that the Feslady is meddlesome has no place on the regional bloc’s agenda.
For as long as there is no evidence that little Lesotho is about to implode SADC will watch from a distance.
There will be a last ditch attempt to invite SADC’s attention by claiming that the parliament’s closure is derailing the so called reforms. That too is an inane argument because what has sabotaged the reforms is not parliament but lack of political will.

In any case, there is no evidence that SADC is still as obsessed with the reforms as it was three years ago. But even if it is, the lack of progress is not reason enough for SADC to intervene.
So this battle to remove Uncle Tom is going to be a long one.
It will not be won until the MPs stop using what remains of their brains after thinking about the interest free loans, trips, allowances and which nyatsi to visit tonight. Muckraker hopes there is still something between those 60 pairs of ears.


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