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ONCE again the hope game has started. Our opposition parties have found another oasis of hope in an abundantly hopeless situation.

Hooray, Jacob Zuma, the King of Nkandla, will visit our little kingdom next week.

The opposition zealots think he will knock some sense into Size Two and his people. Their mouths are watering at the prospect of watching the beleaguered dancer dragging the man from Tsoelike, kicking and screaming, back to the table for yet another talk show with the opposition.

Muckraker wishes this would happen for the sake of progress in this wretched little place of ours.

Sadly, things don’t work that way in diplomacy. Zuma is the king of Nkandla not Lesotho, so he will not speak to Size Two like a boss but a colleague.

He will cajole rather than dictate. He will suggest, not instruct.

That’s not wishful thinking but the reality opposition leaders should accept pronto if they want to keep their blood below boiling point.

Of course Zuma will mention the security and political issues but he will not do so in the same way as a village teacher talks to a student. He will do so like a herd boy talking to another herd boy.

“You see, my brother, winter is coming so you need to sort out your hut and gather some firewood.”

“My brother I am unsettled by the way you looked at my black cow last week. I hope you are not harbouring sexual thoughts.”

That is how herd boys speak to each other: stern warnings wrapped in soft words that can be easily mistaken for pleading.

 

Size Two and Zuma are not herd boys but they were once before age, times, money, education and power washed them. The bit about education does not apply to Zuma who is proud of not having wasted his precious time listening to some pompous chalk-holding fellow masquerading as a giver of knowledge.

Time has passed since Size Two was clobbered by a molamo in a Tseolike veld but you still can see hints of the herd boy in him especially when he starts off loading insults on opponents (don’t believe him when he says the 2015 election mellowed him. His tongue is still itching to spank someone). He uses idioms as a tactic to leave room for him to interpret his way out of trouble. When you start walking towards him with clinched fists he can simply laugh and chide you for having stayed too long in town to understand the wise words from the village.

It is not known how much of Zuma’s mind remains in his herd boy days but there are clear signs it could be as much as 90 percent. You see it in the carefree way he goes about his business even when trouble is baying for his blood at the door. Zuma wouldn’t know a crisis even if it sat on his face. Nothing sticks on that oily one.

Guptagate, Nkandlagate, and rapegate have left him standing, apatheticlike a baboon whose fleas are being picked by another. Two leaders with the abrasiveness and endurance of herd boys will meet for a chat.

That is how you should look at it if you want to keep your sanity. Frankly, nothing much will come from that meeting, at least when it comes to breaking the impasse between the government and the opposition.

Here is some stress management advice: drink some water and watch the spectacle with the indifference of a cow to a goat in pastures.

 

It will be preposterous and naive for our politicians to think Zuma is coming to help fight their battles.

Zuma, by nature, fights for himself. He has been fighting for himself for years. It’s easy for a mere grade zero to rise to the summit of a liberation struggle army. It takes more than talent and luck for an illiterate man to lead Africa’s most powerful and prosperous country. Today he faces enemies who want to yank him out of power before his due date.

Yet he stands tall, unashamed by the ruination of his actions, unfazed by the howls of his countrymen and yowls of his political foes. Zuma fights for no one but himself. So he is likely to mention the political situation in the country as an afterthought. He will only do so after he has persuaded Size Two’s government to keep pushing the Highlands Water Project despite complaints from the youths about the lack of a power generation component.

It is when he is assured that our water will keep flowing into South Africa in the next few years that he will venture to mumble something about our political situation. The notion that Zuma has our interests and happiness at heart is a fallacy manufactured my myopic minds. Either that or it is just a self-deluding idea meant to help us endure the pain of being inconsequential as a country.

For all our pretence at being an independent state, South Africa sees us as nothing more than a huge dam.

They really don’t care what happens to Lesotho as long as its water keeps flowing into Gauteng. Where we seek peace for the sake of prosperity they seek peace for the sake of water.

That Lesotho has people and a government is an inconvenience to South Africa. Given a choice they would find us plots somewhere in Limpopo and turn Lesotho into one big dam. That is what this country is to South Africa: a bucket of water.

 

Muckraker has had it to the back teeth with this MMM thing. It is clear authorities have no clue to stop people from ‘investing’ in MMM. No amount of press conferences, workshops, billboards or adverts is going to stop people from investing in a scheme that gives him 30 percent in a month.

The mathematics is simple and the choice obvious. As the authorities shout their voices hoarse about the evils and dangers of MMM or any other Ponzi schemes people are walking to the nearest banking hall to ‘invest’.

Farmers are selling their livestock to put money in Ponzi schemes. Some are taking loans to play in Mavrodi’s scheme. And there is nothing the authorities can do about it.

You see, the problem with MMM is that you never know who is playing it. There is a possibility that even those at the central bank are playing the game.

The police can warn us about Ponzi schemes but they are most probably playing it at night. It’s not by mistake that not a single politician has said a word about MMM. Pastors and the so-called men of God are playing it. In short, everyone in this country is playing it.

After all it’s just a community of people helping each other.Kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk. Let this daughter of Motsoeneng laugh out loud. MMM will only end when it collapses on its own weight. Until then the authorities should stop wasting their breath on it.

They must allow people to play the game until they are bruised. In the meantime they should save some money because many will need sessions of counselling when the Ponzi scheme collapses with their monies. He who sits on a red hot stove shall surely rise.

 

On the upside though Muckraker feels MMM is teaching people to share.

Blessed is the hand that giveth, so says the scriptures. Muckraker had always doubted those words until MMM came.

Indeed those who donate money are being ‘blessed’ with 30 percent more. It’s a ‘marvellous’ way of bringing the Scriptures to life. Mmmmmmmm. People are giving money to strangers and they are being ‘blessed’.

All of which makes Muckraker wonder why Basotho find it difficult to help their starving and struggling relatives.

If you want to see how tight-fisted a Mosotho is ask him for a R5 to buy fatcakes. He will look at you with a disgusted face before telling you things about your mother.

Why he has no qualms ‘helping’ a stranger on MMM is because the generosity is instantly rewarded. If only this tomfoolery will last. Phew!

Nka! Ichuuuuuuuuuu!

 

muckraker.post@gmail.com

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Feel Makhalanyane’s pain

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THUSO Makhalanyane, the Abia MP, is probably still nursing bruises and aching muscles after being roughed up by the police at a roadblock.

He claims the police beat and dragged him after he objected to their attempt to impound his car over a missing rear number plate.

Makhalanyane says even after he explained that he is an MP, the police strangled him and tore his trousers. They smashed his phone before locking him in a holding cell until another MP intervened to secure his release on the same day.

“I also have bruises on my knees. My body is still in pain,” he claimed.

Muckraker sympathises with Makhalanyane but sees this as a teachable moment for him. Hearing him mourn, Muckraker could not help but sense that Makhalanyane expected some special treatment from our thuggish police because he is an MP.

“If they arrest an MP like that you can imagine what they do to ordinary citizens,” Makhalanyane said in a newspaper interview, glaringly oblivious to what he was implying. Ordinary citizens? Phew!
At that moment, Muckraker was tempted to say ba u file ntho eo u nts’o e batla.

Not because he deserved the harassment and the beating. No! It’s just that he is a blabbermouth. It’s not clear who he was inviting to “imagine” how the police arrest “ordinary citizens”. Suffice it to say most ‘ordinary citizens’ don’t need to imagine police brutality because they see and experience it every day.

Everyone knows someone who has been harassed by those thugs in blue.

Makhalanyane’s people in Abia have always known the police to be roughnecks.

They have probably told Makhalanyane of their ordeal with the police. Yet there was never a time he raised the issue of police brutality in parliament.

He has not raised a motion to discuss the dozens of people killed by the police.

But when he was spanked by the police at a roadblock he clambered the tallest mountain to scream about police brutality. He was on radio stations and in newspapers, crying about the police mishandling him. He cried in parliament too.

It’s not that Makhalanyane doesn’t care about those who have been beaten, tortured and killed by the police.

It’s just that he cares about himself more.

As if the people matter but he matters more.

He knows some people have been killed by the police but the serious issue now is that his knees are bruised and his body is in pain.

It is those bruises and aching muscles that are worth discussing in parliament.

Now you know what matters to him and what keeps him awake at night.

It’s not and it will never be you.

Nka! Ichuuuuuuuuuuuu
muckracker.post@gmail.com

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Special rascals

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Hear, hear, hear! Parliament had an important discussion last week.

The agenda was not unemployment, hunger, corruption, poverty or climate change.
It’s your problem if you think those issues matter.

Our MPs were busy with something special. They were pushing the Speaker to ensure they get the red number plates as a matter of urgency.

MP Thuso Makhalanyane told the Speaker that the MPs wanted their green number plates replaced with the red ones.

The red ones are for ministers and judges. He was supported by Mokhothu Makhalanyane who said “parliament should help them iron out the issue of MPs’ number plates”.

“They (green plates) are not dignified and respected in the eyes of those who see them,” Mokhothu Makhalanyane said.

He said the MPs had since removed the green plates on their cars “because they are not respected”.

“Maybe you will not understand, Mr Speaker, because you use the X number plates,” he said.

There are three things to note from that discussion. The first is that it happened because Thuso Makhalanyane had been harassed by the police at a roadblock weeks earlier.

The second is that the discussion happened days after the gruesome murder of five people in Fobane. Third, the MPs were complaining about number plates in the year of a severe drought and massive job losses.

Did Muckraker say three? No, she lied. As the MPs were discussing their number plates the unemployment rate was galloping, inflation sprinting, hunger stalking the people, poverty hatching its eggs in the villages and famo gangs killing for fun.

And Basotho were not getting passports or IDs.

The lesson here is that you can always count on people to be selfish. It’s not Muckraker’s problem that school, church, village pitsos and family have not taught you this reality. People are almost always motivated by self-interest.

That their actions sometimes benefit you is coincidental.

The reality is that their actions were never meant to benefit you but themselves.

That is why Muckraker has always been cynical of politicians to be passionate about serving the people. Cynicism is the beginning of wisdom.

So when the newly elected RFP MPs threatened to transform our lives Muckraker knew they were just blue lies told by people still too shy to stuff their mouths while the masses who elected them starve.

It was only a matter of time before the selfishness kicked him and they succumbed to their self-interest.

Muckraker hopes you don’t need to be reminded that after spending an hour discussing their number plates the MPs claimed their daily allowances that were paid by you. Ouch!

Nka! Ichuuuuuuuuuuuu
muckracker.post@gmail.com

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Tšeole and his beard

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SOME things don’t need debate or consultation to settle.

It is a notorious fact that Molise Tšeole never had the skills, manners or character to be an ambassador.

That post has always been miles beyond his competency and dignity.

Even if he had been trained and refined for as many years as the hairs in his thick beard, Tšeole would still be too rough and raw to be a diplomat.

That this DC jukebox was jumped up to be Lesotho’s ambassador to Canada is a reflection of the appointer’s poor judgement or the pits to which we had sunk as a country.

It took a special brand of recklessness to pick Tšeole from the two million Basotho.

The kind of choice you make when high on something more potent than the Mapoteng grade.

It should be criminal for anyone, sober or stoned, to appoint an empty head like Tšeole to represent the country even in a farting tournament.

Imagine that anyone who met Tšeole in Canada was made to believe he was a reflection of us as a people.

Not just a reflection but the cream of what Lesotho has to offer the world. Holy dung!

Jehovah!

The thought of anyone seeing Tšeole as the crème de la crème of Lesotho gives Muckraker a running tummy.

The man should not be the ambassador of anything. Not even a stokvel or a boozers’ team.

He should not even represent himself. The chap was beyond redemption.

That is why Muckraker was thrilled when his uncultured fingers and slow mind connived to post some tosh on Facebook in April. He started the fire and his roasting was about to start.

He said this “government of rich people” sees “the poor as nothing”.

They, he added with glee, had looted “all the funds meant to help the people” and shared it among themselves.

“They” being Uncle Sam and his partners allegedly munching what belongs to the poor.

He just sprayed the allegation without evidence and pretended he had done nothing wrong.

It is not clear what had pissed him and his beard so much that they could not resist the temptation to post their way into trouble.

The clapback from Uncle Sam’s government was as instant as it was thunderous.

Within days, Tšeole and his beard were fighting for their job before a disciplinary panel.

Muckraker has heard an audio clip in which Tšeole keeps disrupting the hearing with rowdy interjections.

All that drama amounted to nothing because the panel found him guilty and recommended his firing.

Hours later, Tšeole and his beard were reading a letter ordering them to wrap up their affairs and come home.

He claims he will fight in court but Muckraker thinks he and his beard should just save themselves the trouble and find their way home.

It might also save them time, money and the morsel of dignity they might have acquired from being called “ambassador”.

Whether his Facebook allegations against the government are true or not is not the point.

He could be right but that was not why he was dragged to a hearing

He wasn’t fired for lying but for being a blabbermouth who bites the hand that feeds him.

And this is not about freedom of expression as some dimwits have been quick to claim.

You cannot publicly call your employer a selfish, cruel, thieving cabal and still expect to keep your job. Someone wiser would have started loading their ha re eng Thaba-Tseka soon after clicking ‘post’.

But Tšeole is the gold standard of clowns. ISO-certified stuff. He thought he could get away with such mischief.

Muckraker is relieved that Tšeole and his beard are returning home.

But she cannot get over the fact that we have no way of undoing the damage this charlatan and beard has caused to our reputation as a people. Many people now think we are the same as Tšeole and his beard.

Ouch!

Nka! Ichuuuuuuuuuuuu
muckracker.post@gmail.com

 

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