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How to lie like a politician



This one is a classic from the aeons long forgotten but remains as relevant as a Honda Fit. No reason to say ‘Qoi’ because it’s like a miniskirt. Short enough to arouse interest and long enough to cover the essentials. Here it goes.

A politician recently visited Nyakosoba for a rally and asked the villagers to tell him the two main problems they want his government to fix if he wins the election in October. An old man stood to speak.

“The first problem is that we have a hospital but there is no doctor,” he said.

The politician nodded, pulled out his phone, dialled some number, thrust it in his ear and began to shout.

“The people of Nyakosoba want a doctor! I want you to send one here tomorrow. Do you hear that? This is not a request but an order,” he said.

He ended the call and turned to the villagers.

“The doctor will be here tomorrow. Now tell me your second problem,” he said to the old man who was still standing.

The old man smiled and cleared his throat.

“The second problem is that we don’t have any mobile network in this area,” he said.

There was silence. The momentary silence that follows a loud fart at a pitso. The silence was not because the villagers had caught the politician in a lie. They were waiting for what he would say next for they knew he was not one to be ashamed when caught red-handed. They knew he was going for the jugular and he didn’t disappoint.

“In that case, we will make Qaqathu the capital city of Lesotho. I swear. This primary school across the river will be turned into a medical school so that you don’t lack doctors. Your children will eat ice cream under the school feeding programme.

We will have cable cars between villages. There will be traffic lights on the road to the cemetery. All men in this village will get Florsheim shoes. Women will receive stilettos. Your cows will get cabbages every Friday.

“Your goats will receive massages every month. Donkeys and horses will receive sunglasses. Dogs will eat T-bone steak every Monday. As for you, my people, the sky is the limit. I will bring heaven to Qaqathu. Your sons and daughters will swim in job opportunities.

My party is already negotiating with God to rain diamonds on your villages. You will have so many prawns that your tummies will overflow.”

At that moment a group of donkeys in a nearby field started singing.
Le bitselitsoe masaoana, oh, masaoana-saoana
Le bitselitsoe masaoana, oh, masaoana-saoana
Le bitselitsoe masaoana, oh, masaoana-saoana
The lead singer was Sara, the donkey.
So catchy was the song that even the senior party members that had accompanied the politicians joined in with a chorus.

Oh, masaoana-saoana
Oh, masaoana-saoana
Oh, masaoana-saoana
What is the point?
Well, it’s the reason Muckraker will never say a word about the so-called manifestos that political parties are gleefully announcing at rallies.
They are all nonsonso of nonsonso unworthy of Muckraker’s ink.

Nka! Ichuuuuuuuuuuu!

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The mounted police of murder



A primary school teacher recently gave her students homework. They were to ask their parents about their jobs and present their findings in class. Things were going well until one sad boy walked to the front for his turn.

“My father is a pimp who sells drugs to children. He is a jerk who steals from the disabled and kicks them in the head. He once slapped a woman on a wheelchair,” the boy said.

“My father has been arrested 15 times in the past three months. Last week, he came home with his truck full of stolen meat,” he added.

The class and the teacher are stunned into silence.

“So what is your father’s job?” asked one student.

“I don’t know how to describe him. He is a pimp, a thief and a jerk. All in one,” said the boy.

The teacher was shocked and wondered why the boy was lying because she knew the boy’s father was a policeman.

“But isn’t your father a policeman?” she asked.

“Yes ma’m he is but I am too embarrassed to say he is a policeman. I would rather he be a pimp and a thief than a policeman. There is no profession worse than being a policeman in this country,” said the boy as he wiped off tears.

The teacher and the students instantly understood the boy’s predicament. He didn’t want to be associated with the police in any way, shape or form.

“Clap hands for him,” the teachers commanded the class.

There is no way to describe the levels to which our police have sunk. Last week they did it again. They have added another dead person to their long list of victims. Kopano Makutoane was allegedly killed by the police during the strike.

The LMPS (Lesotho Murderous Police Services) is living up to its reputation. This time it was so brazen that they couldn’t spin it. They promptly issued a statement saying they are aware of the “unfortunate and hurtful incidents” at NUL “where there was a loss of life and some casualties”.

They admitted that the “management is ashamed and condemns these acts”. This was the first time that the police confessed that they were “ashamed” of something. The statement could have ended there because those words sufficed.

But the police wanted to add some oomph to the statement by making a promise that even donkeys know they will not keep.

“We want to reassure the public that in-depth investigations have been launched to establish what really transpired so that action can be taken against the culprits”.

Hahahahahahahaha. That’s not Muckraker laughing but the rats in the ceiling at Mabote Police station. It’s the police promising to arrest itself for committing a crime. If you believe that, you can believe anything. The Feselady has a real doctorate.

Kabi and Majoro are now best friends. Mafeteng is the cleanest town in Lesotho. Shoprite loves Enrich. Mamarame is a brilliant lawyer. Majoro is Lesotho’s best prime minister. And you are not your mother’s child.

Nka! Ichuuuuuuuuuuu!

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The power from NUL



MUCKRAKER has been having sleepless nights as she struggles to understand why the NMDS (Notorious Manpower Damage Secretariat) always does the right thing after NUL students strike. Then this week she stumbled upon the answer.

It has been right there all along. Unlike everyone else in this country, the NMDS doesn’t use electricity from the LEC, Eskom or Muella to power its computers, systems and lights. The computers have a different source of energy.

Pay attention because Muckraker will not repeat this. The computers at NMDS are powered by the kinetic energy of the striking students at NUL.

As the students generate the energy as they chant, march and scream at the NUL gate. That energy is then fed into a special power line that connects the NMDS offices in Maseru to the NUL gate. The more the students march and sing, the more the energy is transferred to the NMDS for its computers and lights.

The NMDS likes the NUL strikes because they give them more energy. It is precisely why the NMDS always pays the grants as soon as there is a strike. They have decided that they need two strikes per year to generate enough energy to last them from January to December. And they schedule expertly.

One strike in the first half of the year and another in the second half. Just before and soon after winter. When the energy is low and the NMDS’ systems don’t work, its managers just have to create some confusion to trigger a strike.

The students will strike and the NMDS systems work and they quickly pay the students. Last week, Florina Rakeketsi, the NMDS’ director, came up with some silly excuse that they would not be paying full stipends.

She knew students would be furious but didn’t care because she wanted her strike and she got it. For some reason, the strikes at Fokothi and other institutions don’t generate the same energy. That is why their strikes never trigger efficiency at the NMDS.

Real power comes from the NUL strikes. The director appears to have made it her vocation to cause strikes at NUL. There must be a special bonus she gets for causing strikes. Her officers too know she will reward them with sterling performance appraisals if they cause a strike.

In fact, it’s part of their job. The target is two strikes per year. No strike, no bonus or promotion. You may be wondering where Muckraker got this idea. Well, the Eureka moment arrived as she watched Minister Mochoboroane trying to explain how a student was killed by the Lesotho Murderous Police Service during the strike.

He mumbled some mumbo-jumbo before looking tongue-tied. At that moment it was clear that it was neither grief nor shock that stole his words. He had been shocked by the huge amount of electricity that the NMDS had received from the strike at NUL. So high is the energy that the NMDS officers are thinking of buying electric cars.

Why worry about fuel prices when there is free electricity from NUL? Soon the NMDS might be selling surplus power to the LEC, thanks to Florina’s smarts. Oops, did Muckraker say Florina is smart? I lied. Sorryyyy! She is a living testimony that people should just learn to let some jobs pass them. Look how she is now behaving like a deer caught in headlights.

Nka! Ichuuuuuuuuuuu!

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Here comes the Feselady



The Feselady is now officially in the ABC’s structures after being elected chairperson of Mokhotlong constituency. She was elected via a show of hands as if they were selecting a committee for mokhatlo. How she got there is not the issue.

The owner of this tortoise atop a fence pole is obvious. Nothing is to be gained from looking for its owner. Yours is to eat your heart out and brace for what comes next.

She now has both earned and transmitted power in the All Basotho Confusion. Earned via a sham election and transmitted through her proximity to Uncle Tom. Remember the chaos she unleashed using transmitter power?
Principal secretaries were spanked all over town.

Now imagine what she can do with earned power. From here, the Feselady is galloping all the way to parliament.

Muckraker cannot wait for her to infuse the much-needed drama into our sleepy and numbingly boring parliament. You can imagine her walking into parliament with a molamu to whip other MPs. Never again shall MPs doze off and retreat into dreamland during debates.

Snooze and you miss the daily doses of drama from the Drama Queen (DQ). Nap and you might find yourself floored by an uppercut from the Mokhotlong yellowbone, stiletto heel on your rotund cheeks.

Say something silly and the DQ will come upon you like a ton of bricks. She will pull the Speaker’s ears as he screams: Order, order, Liabolo!

She will pinch other MPs during debates. If that doesn’t work she will use her bare knuckles to get her point across. Using stilettos is not beyond such characters. Remember she has previously used violence on those who refused to obey her orders.

Whoever will be the Speaker in the next election should tread carefully because the queen of DQs will be in the house. Shoes will be flung around. There are those clever by half elitists who will argue that the Feselady will not bring much value to parliament. What value and for who? Who cares?

Shame on such naysayers. The Feselady will make a better lawmaker than the imbeciles that have been overflowing in our parliament for decades. She has the energy. Whether that energy is misapplied or not is not the issue.

The aesthetics of it have never mattered to either the Feselady or the country. What matters is that she is in parliament.

Muckraker is always praying for the day she will clobber some MP. You can bet your last coin that this will happen. There will be shouting matches full of superlatives. Mother, fathers and ancestors will be insulted. The only question is whether she will do the ultimate: Stripping naked and clambering tables.

On that one you can use your knowledge of probability (journalists are not included because the mathematics put the fear of God in them). Don’t go with luck because the Feselady has proven her propensity to shock with the most outrageous of actions. For now Muckraker can only say get ready for a bumpy but exhilarating ride on a tractor driven by the girl from Mokhotlong.

Will she win? Well, why not? It’s not about IQ or special skills but popularity. It can even be notoriety but that doesn’t matter in our politics. Muckraker is rooting for her.

Nka! Ichuuuuuuuuuuu!

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