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Madness on a lorry



BACK in the days in Mafube Muckraker used to wonder why students become unruly as soon as they entered a bus.
They would sing, shout profanities and stomp their feet. Suddenly we became uncontrollable rascals.
We even had nicknames for the drivers. Muckraker’s favourite was a chubby man with short arms like Donald Trump (the dimwit Americans call a president), who seemed to have a grudge against soap and water.

Some mischievous students speculated that a sangoma had told him that he would have an accident if he bathed before driving.
But his hygiene did not matter as long he gave us memorable rides on the chicken bus our stingy headmaster insisted on hiring for tournaments.
In any case the suffocating fumes from the engine always helped to neutralise his stench. What mattered to us was that ride that came twice a year.
Something in his bus drove us into frenzy. Even the reserved Sesotho teacher who rumourmongers said was a Pentecostal zealot would lose it as soon as she entered the bus.

After her long and loud prayers Miss Holier-than-Thou would gyrate as if she had just received her one way ticket to Heaven.

In Maseru Muckraker would see the same spectacle among construction workers in lorries.
She witnessed how seemingly decent family men would lose their manners as soon as they clamber a lorry. They whistle, ululate and even break into vulgar laced songs.

Muckraker thought this was a preserve of overworked builders and impressionable students until a Eureka moment hit her one day.
Only later in her adulthood did Muckraker understand that it was mob psychology.
She discovered that there were striking similarities between what happens when men are in a lorry and how we behave as a country.
Indeed this country operates on mob psychology. This country is like a lorry of construction workers. Enter it and you lose your mind.
For evidence of this look no further than the brouhaha over the so-called reforms.

As if on cue the whole country has jumped onto a bandwagon called Reforms.
We are going agog over reforms as if we have stumbled upon something spectacularly new.
Like the lorry people we are bellowing and singing. You would think that it was that Botswana judge and his battalion who first introduced us to the concept of reforms.

Yet if truth be told, we have always known that at some point our security forces, civil service, constitution and judiciary will need to be reformed.
Even as we were cobbling up that makeshift constitution in 1993 we knew it was an emaciated little cow desperately in need of fattening.
It has always been clear as a goat’s behind that our army will need to be fastened to a tree with a chain of reforms.
Not even mitigated fools would mount a fight against efforts to make our police more professional. If you needed a SADC commission to tell you that the civil service has to be reformed then you have no business having a brain.

You must have been perennially high on something illegal if you cannot see that our judiciary system is pathetic.
You have a brain the size of a punctuation mark at the end of this sentence if you didn’t know that this country needed reforms pronto.
Yet here we are, riding on a packed bandwagon again.

True to our nature as esteemed gossips we have seized upon reforms. Debating the reforms is our new pastime. Thanks to the SADC commission our unemployed youths have something to discuss while basking in the sun.
Our indolent civil servants have found a new vocation. Suddenly they are keen to come to work because that is where they get new insights into the reforms.

Idle minds that perambulate the social media have been jerked from a slumber.
Hello, dunderheads! When was the last time you were so excited about a national issue?

Those who have followed Muckraker’s article know that her analysis is never far off the mark. Her words are always prophetic. And unlike those so-called prophets like Bushiri, Muckraker doesn’t do it for ching-ching. Now mark this day (September 14, 2017) for you will remember her prediction about the so-called reforms.

Her gut feeling is that they will not amount to much. Interest groups will sneak their nefarious schemes on the agenda.
Politicians will work overtime to molest the reform process so it suits their plans.
No politician will stand by while some people connive to whittle his power.

The MPs will huff and puff to keep their privileges and even add more feathers to their already comfy nest. We are entering a new era of tuff wars.
Where others see an opportunity to change the course of this country others see a chance to consolidate their power and privileges.
In the end we will have reforms that speak to the interests of the few rather than the urgent needs of the country.

The final document will read like a divorce settlement. Its purpose will be to distribute power and privileges. To well-meaning people this process will end in tears. Muckraker is aware her prophetic words will elicit some angry and garrulous reactions from some zealots but she doesn’t give a rat’s about their emotional instability.

She wasn’t there when they slipped and knocked their heads on the floor.

Muckraker will confess that she likes police spokesperson Inspector Mpiti Mopeli. He is more proactive than his predecessor.
But over the past few weeks Muckraker has begun to feel sorry for Mopeli because he is being asked to do the impossible: defending an institution that keeps marching on the wrong path.

It is tough to spin your way out of allegations that the police are using brutal interrogations methods on suspects.
Thus far Mopeli has mastered the art of calling torture victims shameless liars. He doesn’t say it in those words but it’s clear that is what he means.
Hearing him speak, you would think our police are victims of malicious people. Muckraker knows that accusing a victim of making up things is the first tool of crude propaganda.

Remember the same defensive talk under the immunisation debacle a few months ago when the then minister of health called the mothers of the suffering children wretched liars.

The pictures on social media were of some sickly children from countries not of us, he said.
To his credit the minister beat a hasty retreat after a thunderous public backlash.
Muckraker suspects that our police will go the same route but not before it tries another propaganda trick.
If people keep saying they have been tortured the police will soon start accusing them of injuring themselves.

The alleged victims, the police will say, whipped themselves and deliberately bashed their heads against walls to manufacture evidence of police torture. Muckraker is yet to think of what the police will say for those who claim have had their genitals pulled during the torture.
Will they say such people pulled down their pants and bruised their genitals just to fabricate evidence against the police?
Or they will say those people probably got injured during some kinky orgy somewhere?

Given the history of our police it is possible that before they own up to their shenanigans they will try one more horrid trick.
They will probably torture those who are claiming to have been tortured so that they deny that they were ever tortured.
That way torture becomes an instrument to silence those who claim to have been tortured. So torture will beget torture.

That time is coming soon. Prophetic again? Yeah, I know!

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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!

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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!

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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!

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