Connect with us


Frogs in lipstick



LESOTHO will probably never have a tabloid newspaper but that doesn’t mean scandalous news remains hidden.
Basotho will always find ways to scatter the lurid details. Of course Facebook and Whatsapp have made their job easier.

They have saved us of the cost of having to travel to another village or town to dish out the latest gossip to a friend, relative or a random stranger we meet in a taxi.
Yet there are thousands of other Basotho who have no access to those social media platforms or phones.

These continue to do it the old-fashioned way: whisper the damn news to one person and the whole village will know it by nightfall.
A rural girl, Muckraker has always known that the best gossip doesn’t come from elders but the children of the village.
To know the latest scandal, especially those about fornicators, you don’t have to interrogate the little souls.

Just go to aloe shrubs in the village where you are sure to stumble upon fresh news scribbled on those sky-blue leaves.
You will know who is doing what to whom in the village. You will know who is sleeping at which house when their wife is away.
If the aloes don’t have the juicy gossip, you can visit the VIP toilet at the nearest school.

Written clearly in human manure will be some of the choicest gossip about students, teachers and chiefs.
If you want to know what the principal is up to then the toilet’s walls are the place to look. Phew!

But over the years Muckraker has also discovered that even seemingly innocent games like morabaraba can deliver good gossip.
With nothing at stake, except vain pride, some men can spend a whole day moving those tiny stone on a board. All that labour earns them mere bragging rights.
At times the games can be extremely emotional as some men don’t take lightly to being outclassed on anything, even a silly game that doesn’t require much acumen.
Some matches have been known to turn violent. Yeh, you heard that right. A Mosotho man can pull out a machete at a morabaraba game.
That is partly because our men, especially those bereft of some height, have short fuses.

Yet there is a bigger reason why fights happen at morabaraba games. Gossip! “Motlo! Ke tla u metletsa ngoan’a moloi”. “Ke tla u ja mph!” “ke tla u ja joalokaha ausi’au a jeoa ke ’Nyeo.” Amid such banter dirty secrets are unveiled.  Hang around a little longer and you will know who is sneaking into whose house in darkness. You will know who likes to wait for the chief’s daughter on the way to the village well.

You will know the true paternity of the son Thabang has always thought was his firstborn. You will know why the chief always favours the widow across the valley.
The point is that morabaraba is more than just a board game to keep boredom at bay.  To some it is a platform to send a message to opponents and villagers whose guts they despise with passion.

It is a chance to pass snide comments against those you think are getting too big for their shoes. In a way, this is how Basotho fight their battles.
Nothing is straightforward.

For reference you should see how our politicians are going to behave in the next three months. Here we go again.
Another election looms in this little country of ours. Soon zealots and bumpkins will be ululating and gyrating at rallies.
Eyes agog, they will endure the scotching heat as they listen to politician poop shameless lies about each other.

It’s going to be an unrelenting blitz of lies and propaganda on the impressionable minds teeming in this country.
Mendacities will be our fodder for the next three months as politicians jostle for our votes. Aluta continua! We are marching to yet another contest of morons.
We have no choice but to pick someone from the heap of tosh that is our politicians.
Those of us who know better are in a predicament of sorts: we are damned if we vote and screwed if we don’t.
We all have to vote.

So we firmly hold our noses, dip our arms into the political gutter, pull out whatever maggot we can grab and plonk an ‘X’ against its name on the ballot.
But never be under any illusion that this is a battle to make this country a better place. When those in power claim to be seeking a new mandate what they really want is more time to line their pockets.

When those in opposition say they want to lead us they mean they want an opportunity to trouser our money.
The political battles have never been about pulling this country from the clutches of poverty.
It has never been about making the future better for our children.

What is gullying though is that our people keep galling up the same old tosh politicians are foisting on them.
The result is that we keep recycling the same old buffoons who have no clue about taking this country to the next level.
It is not a contest of ideas, policies or ideologies we are going to have in the next three months.

Rather it is a beauty contest of frogs we have tried to beautify with lipstick and mascara.
Sadly, we keep hoping these frogs will turn out to be something desirable and useful because they are in make-up.

Speaking of elections, Muckraker feels for Mokola and his party. Some ABC people have been fretting about Mokola’s legacy.
They say their party’s partnership with the AD might be as toxic as the one with the LCD which ended in tears. They say he cannot be trusted because he is a cunning fellow.
They are wrong.

It is the AD that should fear the ABC. The AD is still largely an idea. It exists because Mokola says it does.
Beyond the regalia, the Facebook posts, numerous interviews and a bunch of zealots, the AD remains an idea.
Its structures in the villages are still germinating, if at all they have been sown.

The AD is therefore counting its blessings that the ABC has even agreed to form a government with it.
But here is the problem: the deal was based on the idea that there will be a palace coup in parliament and Size Two will meekly fold his arms and retreat to his lonely camels.
That plan looks like it is about to be upended because Size Two wants an election.

And an election is something the AD is just not ready for, no matter how much it expresses its eagerness to go to the polls. So why should the AD be afraid of the ABC?
Well, Uncle Tom knows that he has the upper hand in this election and the AD is just a mouse in the battle of titans.
Once there is an election the deal that would have seen Mokola moving into parliament for a few months is dead.

A victorious Thabane would not want to play second fiddle to a walloped Mokola. Mokola will therefore have to take the crumbs Uncle Tom will fling his way.
But remember this is Uncle Tom we are talking about, a shrewd man who knows how to turn the tables.
Once the results are in this false romance between the ABC and AD will have to be renegotiated.

It will not be a negotiation of equals but that of a master and a servant. Uncle Tom has always wanted to rule alone because he knows the dangers of having spoilers in the government.
He knows how small parties, with a few seats and voters who cannot even fill a bicycle, can hold a whole government hostage.

Continue Reading


Machonisa on fire



It was only a matter of time before the so-called socialist party owned by a machonisa started unravelling. Now the capitalist owner of the Socialist Revolutionaries is lashing out at anyone who dares to tell him to behave himself.

Teboho Mojapela is moving around his party’s structures with a phafa, leaving his victims scratching their bums.

Muckraker has no sympathy for his victims. They deserve what they are getting.

Having deluded themselves to think that they are stockholders in the SR, they should now enjoy their harvest of thorns. They were guests at Mojapela’s house but tried to tell him how to arrange his furniture and what to eat.

He is telling them to go find somewhere to play because the SR is his personal property.

That the SR is in Mojapela’s armpits has always been clear. He formed and funded it.

It’s just that some were too naïve to realise the obvious.

Thabo Shao packed his bags and left after Mojapela whipped him out of his house. He now mumbles something about Mr Machonisa being a dictator. He says that as if it’s a discovery to be shared with the rest of the world.

Yet anyone with something between their ears would have known that a machonisa who brags about beating his naughty workers could not possibly be a democratic leader.

Only Shao and a few dimwits didn’t know that.

Anyway, Shao’s exit will not change much because he just doesn’t matter. He is a political nonentity who overrates himself.

What interests Muckraker is Mr Machonisa’s nerve to call Shao an uneducated rascal. That hurts because it’s an insult coming from someone who has made it a mission to give education a bad name. Mr Machonisa’s definition of someone educated is Tlohelang Aumane. Hear, hear, and hear. Phew!

Does anyone remember Aumane saying anything either educated or educative?

Muckraker only knows him as a political jezebel incapable of staying in one political bed for more than 15 minutes. He is always itching to be married to the next political party.

Muckraker is tempted to say Aumane is politically horny but she won’t say it for fear of offending the oversensitive souls. The kind that claims to have almost suffocated to death after someone farted in a hall.

But Mr Machonisa doesn’t care about Aumane’s habits because he thinks he is renting a brilliant political mind. A few things will happen in that union.

Mr Machonisa will soon realise that Aumane is just an empty-headed political slay queen always looking for the next partner to get him Ice Tropez (May lightning strike whoever drinks that but cannot afford it. Fire!)

Aumane will realise that Mr Machonisa is a moneyed but unrefined village bumpkin whose mouth has a terrible habit of rebelling against his brain.

Mr Machonisa will find the next brain to rent while Aumane will be putting on his stilettos to find another political lover to smooch on the Maseru streets.

Nka! Ichuuuuuuuuuuu!

Continue Reading


The queen Mampara



Muckraker once promised to say nothing about the Feselady but that Mampara’s mouth keeps running as if it’s connected to Muela Hydro Power Station.

The Feselady told some ABC members who visited her home that she will not associate with the party until it distances itself from the remark of suspended spokesman Montoeli Masoetsa. What made her relapse to her Drama Queen ways was Masoetsa’s attack on her and her hubby. He said the ABC lost because of Uncle Tom and Feselady.

That simple truth, known to even donkeys in Qaqatu, pierced her cheeky heart and got her tummy roiling. She now says she will never wear the ABC’s regalia until the party apologises. Don’t laugh. If this was a threat, the Feselady has lost her touch.

She used to beat people for merely looking at her in a funny way or calling her hubby.

She would harass government officials in public. Now she has been reduced to threatening to avoid yellow dresses and T-shirts to fix the ABC. Boom! Boom! The mighty Drama Queen has fallen.

What remains is just the fading memories of power sexually transmitted.

The transmitter of that power has long ceased to function literally and figuratively.

But the Feselady is too engrossed with herself to realise that she has neither the power nor the capacity to make threats to anyone. She rules only her home, yard and a few idiots still clinging to her.

It takes some sophistication to read irony and the Feselady doesn’t have even a pinch of it. Her people in Mokhotlong rejected her when she tried to sneak into parliament via that hollow popularity garnered through matrimony.

ABC supporters think she is just an uncultured blabbermouth. That she thinks anyone would lose sleep over her threats to burn the party’s regalia or turn them into fatukus is comical. Her tantrums will not change a thing. Her boycott might be the best thing to happen to the party since the October 7 defeat.

Why would the few remaining ABC supporters worry about a garrulous charlatan boycotting their party?

The last time she was wearing the ABC like a wig, it lost more than 200 000 voters, flew to the opposition benches and became a smallanyana party. Nothing hurts more than that. So bring it on mummy!

Nka! Ichuuuuuuuuuuu!

Continue Reading


The RFP’s thokolosi



The RFP leaders should fire whoever is advising them on how to deal with constituencies demanding a conference to elect a new executive committee. Their response to those demands has been a comedy of errors.
It’s been nothing short of kindergarten blunders unbefitting of people who sold themselves as the smart ones to lead the country out of darkness.
The secretary general told those bellowing for a conference to take a chill pill and wait for Uncle Sammy to give directions.
Uncle Sammy said those people or their kind are divisive, dragging the party off its agenda and incapable of understanding his dream for the country.
Other leaders have said those clamouring for a conference can go plead their case to a mountain because the current national executive committee will run the party for another six pregnancies.
Never mind the words they use, the leaders are telling the members that they will not be told how to manage a party they started. This is to say the leaders will not be taking instructions from the riffraff. Yes, I said it! Those rubbed the wrong way can curse.
Someone should round up the RFP’s executive committee members, lock them up in a room, throw away the keys and spank them until they understand politics.
They are clearly struggling to make a distinction between a political party and private companies. You would think this is common sense but the human mind is always slow to banish habits.
The RFP leaders were used to being business owners, not political leaders. That is why they cannot understand why anyone who wasn’t there when they started the party can tell them how to manage it.
But make no mistake, reality will grab them by the noses and eyelids back to their senses. They will be taught three simple lessons. The first is that political parties are voluntary entities in which power lies with the members.
The second is that party members are not employees you can just instruct to jump around because you pay their wages.
The third, which is more important, is that the only time a political party is a personal property is when it’s an idea in the founder’s head. Once registered and people join, the members own the party together with its structures, leaders and vision.
The other problem with the RFP’s responses to the demands for an elective conference is that they keep pretending that those three constituencies are just rogues out to sabotage the party. Nothing can be further from the truth.
Those constituencies are small thokolosis of someone right there in the party’s echelons. They represent a growing faction in the party. That faction that is a thokolosi was birthed when the party was still a spirit. It was nurtured when the party was registered and continued to grow during the campaign.
By the time the RFP became government, it was a full-blown thokolosi vigorously doing bedroom things to produce more thokolosis. Now it is granddaddy thokolosi living in the RFP’s armpits.
There is a simple way to find the thokolosi’s owner.
Just round them up and beat them until their parents start wailing. If the parents don’t come out the thokolosis will run to them for protection.

Nka! Ichuuuuuuuuuuu!

Continue Reading