Stealing for fun

Stealing for fun

THAT those in power are thieves who have set up camp outside the national vault cannot be contested (those who dispute this have morsels of manure in their heads).
They steal from the government hand over fist. Unrepentant crooks on steroids, they are. By electing them we have sent rats to the granary.  And so they rob us with zest while wondering how we could be so daft to keep them in office.

In private whiskey-oiled meetings, they laugh at our gullibility. Away from our prying eyes they load their bellies with delicacies while sharing notes on how well to cover their tracks.
It is as clear as the goat’s behind that these felons, masquerading as our leaders, are on a mission to impoverish us.  Yet, if the truth be told, we are a country of thieves: from the lowest village bumpkins to the top politicians.

Those in government are easy to bash because they are in the public glare and they have votes attached to their names. Let that sink in a bit before you start fuming and throwing tantrums.
I am going to add flesh to that biting point.

The reality is that everyone in this country is capable of being a thief. Let me revise that and say everyone in this country is probably stealing somewhere somehow.
The only difference is that some are stealing peanuts while others are looting millions. Some are nicking because they are desperate while others are robbing to satisfy their gluttony.
Whether you look at it from the forehead or bum, it remains thievery.

Deep in the most remote of villages are men and women who are either pinching burial society money, conniving to sneak their relatives’ names on the fato-fato lists or have already cooked up a baptismal certificate to crank up their ages so they get the government pension.

There is probably a herd boy marooned on a mountain somewhere, trying to call his employer to utter lies about some “dead” sheep that he has either swallowed or converted into cash.
There is a rural headmaster who has confused the schools’ money for his. There is a teacher whose small house is teeming with government books he has just ‘forgotten” to give to students (ever wondered why the teacher’s child has all the necessary books with school stamps?)

There is probably a pastor of a little village church who is busy stuffing his pockets with tithes.  But I am clean, you might say with a straight face. Muckraker says “Yeh, clean for now because you are yet to get a chance to shove your calloused fingers into the cookie far”.  The deterrent to thievery is not jail or punishment because, as history shows, crooks rarely get punished in Lesotho.
What stops you from stealing is the lack of opportunity and maybe the skill to cover your tracks.

What irritates Muckraker is that the public and politicians like to pretend to be shocked when they hear that monies or things have mysteriously grown legs and relocated to someone’s bank account or home.

There is nothing as maddening as feigned outrage. While officially opening a school atop Berea plateau a few weeks ago, Size Two was aghast at news that some ‘innovative’ villager had found a way to separate three computers from the school.

He shuddered at the temerity of someone to take the computers.  He described the incident as “unfortunate” as if it’s a rarity.  From a distance Muckraker could not help but think this was actually a fortunate incident because not all computers were stolen and someone did not have the evilness to steal the whole school.

Size Two was therefore being ungrateful. He should have said: “Well done for stealing just three computers. At least you left some for the school”.
It is astounding that Size Two was grousing over three computers, probably stolen by some hungry villagers, when millions are being siphoned out of the country through nefarious deals like the Bidvest one.

It could be that small people should not steal because the government hates competition.  Last week Water Affairs Minister, Kimetso Mathaba, started his own moaning party as he bitterly complained about two manhole covers he said had disappeared.

While he harangued the poor Teya-teyaneng villagers for failing to protect their property a senior official in his ministry was being accused of dishing out tenders to companies related to him by blood.

Muckraker will not say much on this subject lest she be arm-twisted to produce evidence she doesn’t have. It’s sufficient to say there is no smoke without fire.
The point here is that everyone is stealing or is about to steal. Look to the left and the right in your office and you are probably looking at a thief or a potential crook.
That is just how it is. We share a country, houses, offices or pillows with thieves.

What informs our collective anger towards the wanton stealing are two things: the socialisation that says it is wrong to steal and the jealous towards those who are stealing. That is to say you are hurt because your mother said never steal and someone else has beaten you to the cookie jar.
Just when is Uncle Tom coming back home?

He has been leading his supporters down the garden path over the past few months. One day they wake up to some sensational headline that his bags are packed and MaIsiah is holding his hands up the road to Maseru Bridge.

The next week they hear he is still waiting for the pathetic organisation called SADC to sort out his security issues. A few days later he tells them his return is imminent.
Still his supporters gobble this tosh like chicks being fed. Wise Muckraker is not sold, so she went hunting for theories.  The first is that having tasted the good life on the other side of Mohokare River, Maisiah has no interest in coming back home.  Raise your hand if you loathe her for that. Raise it higher.

Now, listen you hypocrites. Maisiah is just being a typical Mosotho: patriotic at heart but practical in life.  They sing the national anthem with passion, scream when their country is criticised and go crazy when they feel foreigners are pinching their privileges.  Yet by night they are plotting their way out of their beloved country.

The second theory, which is equally persuasive, is that Uncle Tom himself feels coming back to Maseru is a huge demotion on the high life he has been living.
Having spent all his life watching goats and sheep courting each other, the old man probably wants to enjoy himself in the last days of his life.
The third is that he just wants to whet the appetites of his supporters who think he is the best thing to happen after sliced bread. Phew!
Are we they waiting for the second coming of Jesus? We know he is coming but we just don’t know when.

Something stinks about the Speaker of Parliament Ntlhoi Motsamai’s plot to kick out opposition MPs.
She might be right at law but horribly wrong on timing.

She has instantly thrown herself into the messy politics of this country.  “C” is the mark on her face to represent her association with the congress parties.
Now she is being accused of having a bulldog in this fight even if she is following the law to the letter.  The problem, of course, is that Motsamai does not realise how precarious the situation is at the moment.

Instead of treading carefully she is adding more wood and paraffin to the pyre. All these shenanigans are at the expense of otherwise a sterling reputation.
Muckraker just cannot understand why Motsamai, a clever woman, would want to throw her image into the gutter.

Curiously, she has allowed the opposition MPs to tell the story on her behalf and they have done a splendid job of portraying her as a villain out to pillage their numbers in parliament to insulate the government from an imminent Jackie Chan kick from the opposition.

Motsamai thinks people can separate facts from fiction and propaganda from information.
She is hoping that those bludgeoning her will see reason. She is roasting maize while her enemies are digging her political grave.

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