The thing from the State House

The thing from the State House

IF you haven’t listened to Ntho ke Ena, Juvy’s song with Budhaza, you are either jealous, just oblivious or a relic of the past.
Or an overzealous Pentecostal zealot indoctrinated to think secular music is a roadblock to heaven (let’s see if your fake prophets will help you find the 2019 Christmas that has been brazenly stolen by this inept coalition government).

It’s either of those or you are listening to the tosh rendition from the State House. Oooo shame!
Incidentally, the State House’s singing couple can learn a thing or two from Juvy and Budhaza.
The first is that the lead singer must never sprint full speed ahead of the backing vocalists.
The second is never to speak when you should be singing.

Muckraker swears the couple was speaking and not singing that song. Witchcraft is when two adults contrive to make a mess of a popular hymn. Where the hell were they when others were singing that song?
Bunking church? There is nothing as embarrassing as hopeless copycats who are overly impressed by their incompetence.
The third lesson is that no amount of enthusiasm, real or feigned, can make up for lack of musical talent.
The only rule is that if you are going to steal songs don’t mutilate them with impunity. At least get some few keys right.
Don’t mush the song as if you wrote it.

The couple should be reminded that if you can’t sing then just zip it. Thola, u robale! After all, they were in the bedroom already.
Cover that mouth with a pillow and doze off before you inflict irreparable damage to our eardrums.
But let’s get back to the Juvy-Budhaza song and its link to the shrieking twosome from the State House.
Muckraker likes it when Budhaza sings: “Ntho ke ena, e mpoma leleme”.

He is singing about beer but Muckraker is thinking about that noxious tune from the State House and that leads her to chip in with: “Ntho ke ena, e mpoma litsebe”?
When the chorus says “Ba ntjesa tsela bo u tahe” they are talking about beer but Muckraker is thinking of the power that has intoxicated the lovebirds.
Indeed, the Feselady’s cup is overflowing with power.

As the nauseating videos spread like a nasty gossip about a rude chief Basotho rummaged their minds, hearts and bins for reasons to explain what could have prompted Uncle Tom to join that atrocious choir.
Some opined that he was forced while others speculated that the Feselady had tricked him into partaking in the shameful tomfoolery.
Those with a heightened tense of intrigue alleged that the Old Man of Lesotho’s politics was not himself. It’s not surprising that this is coming from the usual suspects for that battalion always hunts for excuses to defend Uncle Tom.

All those allegations and theories are horribly wrong.
Uncle Tom was a willing participant in that band. If you buy the story that Uncle Tom was under duress then you can believe that you are not your mother’s child.
A few lessons from Muckraker might blunt the pain of your ignorance about bedroom matters. People do crazy things behind that door.
People make outrageous demands once in that room.

It doesn’t matter whether it’s your pastor, pastor’s wife, bishop, father or chief executive. They are all capable of the most extreme things in the bedroom.
Muckraker has met lovers who wanted her to bark like a dog and croak like a frog. One asked her to make cat sounds. Another said he likes it when his woman jumps like a kangaroo.
Don’t ask if Muckraker stooped to those lowly levels. Just know that she too is not immune to making her own fetish demands.
She likes it when her lovers dance like Michael Jackson while naked.

Sometimes she demands that they dance mokhibo. If they don’t dance it like Puseletso Seema then the mood is killed. Chemistry out of the window.
Until recently she was obsessed with making her partner imitate Size Two’s voice. Those who couldn’t say a few insulting Sesotho idioms were instantly branded unromantic rascals.
She has binned that obsession out of respect for Size Two. The past two years have irrefutably proven that Size Two was not the worst thing to happen to Lesotho.

One of Muckraker’s friends is a real definition of a drama queen. She says she once told her partner to act rich like Sam Matekane.
The poor chap tried to imitate Matekane’s step and voice but nothing worked. He brought out some ten Maloti notes and showered then on the bed but the woman was still not impressed.
After hours of trying the exhausted fellow slumped on the bed with a perplexed look on his face.

“Babie, I wanted you to pretend like you are Ntate Matekane flying in his helicopter, but clearly you cannot even pretend to be rich. You sleep in the kitchen tonight,” she eventually said.
A night spoilt just because the uncreative chap could not pretend to be piloting a helicopter like Matekane. To be fair, the man did own a bicycle.
All he had to get from point A to B were his rickety feet and tattered Allstars. Muckraker has heard of stories of men who insist that their women dance like Zodwa. Others want strip tease shows.

Where are we going with these anecdotes? Well, we are on a chicken bus to the State House.
We are on a study tour to understand what it is that could have triggered Uncle Tom to bless us with that baritone last week.
Keep in mind that this is an investigation that will not lead to a jury.
Muckraker is responsible for the words she writes, not what you imagine she is saying.

Your interpretation is yours. So are your drama queen tendencies and illiteracy.
It’s not Muckraker’s problem that English used to make you see stars in high school.
Own that confusion and keep it yourself. Don’t splash it like the Feselady parading her lousy singing skills.
Now that we are clear on who will kiss whose baby lets enter the State House.

There are four possibilities. The first is that the song was a dessert. Ask not what the main course was.
The second is that it could have been one of the couple’s romance routines.
Say what you may about the lack of romance in such a sob church song but the point is that it’s possible.

The third is that Uncle Tom could have been keeping his end of the bargain.
He could have demanded that his ears be kissed and the Feselady asked for a song in return.
It could be that the taking part on the band could have been punishment for something.
Maybe during the week he had said something that jingled the Feselady’s emotions and he was paying for his ‘sins’.
The findings of our inquiry: it was a reward, punishment or just a romantic routine. Anything is possible.
There is nothing embarrassing in the bedroom. All is fair.

You can ask someone to dress like a clown and it will be done. In that room concessions are wringed through manipulation disguised as romance.
In that moment deals are made. Cars are bought and mansions built. Overdrafts and loans are approved.
Bank cards are surrendered and wallets yanked opened. Machonisa are called. People disown and insult their mothers.
“’Mè oa ka ke moloi!”

In that room divorces are finalised.
In all this we should remember that there is nothing wrong with what Uncle Tom did. He was just playing a part in a private play. The outrage should be directed at the person who filmed the incident and sent it out.

That should be made clear because there was absolutely no justifiable reason to film a man in his moment of weakness. At that moment and in that room Uncle Tom could have danced panstula like the Trompies just to play a role.
He could have donned Penny Penny’s despicable outfit and crazy hairstyle. This was a private gig that is now being played to everyone. Now donkeys in Thaba-Tseka know about it.
The stray dogs in Motimposo have heard it too. So have the goats in Ha-Pena Pena. The lizards of Mapoteng should be rolling with laughter. Muckraker leaves the possible reaction of Size Two’s camels to your imagination.

All because someone could not control their wayward selfie habits.
Uncle Tom is now a joke of the year. He has closed an eventful year on a clownish note.
A foreign journalist called Muckraker to ask if it is true that our prime minister is a social media sensation after his blockbuster was leaked.
Does that embarrass the country? Hell no. We didn’t sing with him. We were not there when the movie was scripted and filmed. He is our prime minister, not our country. He was not elected for his singing skills.
Should we be irritated by the video?

Well, just a little bit because their video gobbled our data and our children won’t stop singing the song.
Should we feel pity for Uncle Tom? No!
What happened is between him and his sweetheart. To infuse some empathy into the matter would be to interfere in a private affair. All we can do is laugh and keep our noses clear.

So why was Uncle Tom’s daughter, Advocate ‘Mabatsoeneng Hlaele, pissed at the video?
The trouble with Advocate Hlaele is that she just doesn’t understand the power dynamics in this whole affair.
She forgets, naively or deliberately, that the Feselady is now in charge.

A marriage certificate is one of the most important contracts between a man and a woman.
The Feselady has that. All Advocate Hlaele has is a birth certificate which has long ceased to bind Uncle Tom to any fatherly responsibility to her.
She is an adult Mosotho woman.

To get out of that marriage contract with the Feselady Uncle Tom would have to approach the High Court.
Yet by the look of things it seems Uncle Tom has no interest in throwing in the towel.
He is happily married and Advocate Hlaele should live with it.
Those two are joined at the hip, both in song and life.

Advocate Hlaele can fume until donkeys can spell their names but this reality will not change.
Yes, her heart aches for her father who she believes is under a Mokhotlong spell.
Yet that doesn’t mean she can extricate the old man from the clutches of his wife.
And it’s not as if the man is complaining about his life.
That he is singing in selfies is a sign that he is happy. If Advocate Hlaele doesn’t like it she can go tell it to a mountain.

On an entirely different note, Muckraker hopes you enjoy the holidays.
She is aware that times are hard but she sincerely hopes that you will spare a little to fill some poor bellies and spread the love.
Muckraker is off to Mafube to spend some days with her mum and she will be back on January 2. Keep her posted if there is more monkey business from the State House.
Let’s hope 2020 will be better than this terrible one we are closing.
Nka! Ichuuuuuu

Previous Cheers for Bolepo tea!
Next The year in review

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