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Look who is ’Mannyeo now!



Now that he is gone, Muckraker thinks it is time to ask what is it that Uncle Tom will take back home. Leabua Jonathan took his cattle home.
Major General Justin Lekhanya has his cows. Size Two left with his camels. Ntsu Mokhehle never had much liking for material things.
What will Uncle Tom take back to Abia?

His Chinese friend will not agree to be carted to Abia.
The silly boys around him won’t be joining him. He is no longer relevant to them. They have their own problems to ponder.
He will pack his yellowbone in a bag and return home.
There is no way the Feselady will return to Abia in broad daylight. The shame is too much to bear. She will have to be sneaked into the village in a Ha re eeng Thaba-Tseka.

She will wake up in the wee hours of the morning and start sweeping the yard as if she has always stayed there. Neighbours will chuckle. The chief she once insulted will snare at her. Welcome to the people sister! In Abia you are a subject.

You can however be sure that the Feselady will be bored out of her mind without the international trips, power and aides to tend to her every whim.
She is used to drama. She is used to being the centre of attention.
In the village she will be just another ’Mannyeo.
The village ladies will not gossip with her.

She might start visiting the library but that will be a disaster. You can imagine the Feselady walking into the library, heading to the counter, slamming a book down and screaming at the librarian. “This is the worst book I have ever read. It has no plot and too many characters,” she will say.

The librarian will look up and calmly remarks: “Ah, so you are the one who took our phonebook? Mehlolo! Now you see what your Form B is doing to you?”
Never in the history of this country has a woman risen and fallen with such stunning speed. The loquacious yellowbone from Mokhotlong has fallen with a thud.

It’s too late to go back to school. Too early to mend bridges. Too early to show some contrition. And so she will pretend that all is well (say that with an Indian accent, please) while wearing a plastic smile that belies her fear.
But it’s not too early to see a shrink. The woman needs it because a sudden loss of power can be traumatic. She will be suffering from what is called Post-Good Life Disorder (PGLD).

Or PAO for Post Arrogance Disorder. From now it’s Muvhango all the way.
Someone must tell her to watch Lockdown, a jail drama.

Without power you feel naked and exposed. For the Feselady it’s even worse because she was in the business of spanking and insulting people in town.

Now the woman she bashed at a local hospital might want a rematch.
The playing field has been levelled. The Feselady can no longer fight while perched on her bodyguard shoulders.
The waiter she harangued at a lodge in Butha-Buthe might be calling her with the pinky finger. She must be saying Tloho ‘Me` as she rolls up her sleeves and tucks her dress into her undies. Tloho ngoan’aka, sunyetsa, u nyoke tšehlana ena.

Forget the economic policy that Majoro will cobble up in the next few days.
Worry not about the jobs he will promise to create.
For now Muckraker is not even concerned about the cabinet which she knows will be just mishmash of some old and new faces.

Her only wish is that the government grants her just five minutes to beat up the Feselady for her shenanigans. This will not be gender-based violence but a sister disciplining another sister. A free lesson to every woman who will one day find herself swaggering in the corridors of power with a ring thrust on her finger.

The Feselady should have her ears wringed. She was a nuisance. She abused borrowed power with such vim that you would think she owned it.

By the time you read this Dr Moeketsi Majoro will be soaked in saliva from bootlickers. He must find a raincoat, pronto, or the stinking drool will keep pounding him.

Muckraker sincerely hopes the man can swim because there is a Tsunami of saliva coming his way. Such is the nature of Lesotho’s politics of the belly.
Tongues are always in overdrive. People who called him a nonentity a few weeks ago are now harassing him with their shameless tongues.
Not even Covid-19 can stop this unhygienic politics of bootlicking.
You have to feel for the man. The same long tongues that were licking Thabane are now all over him.

Imagine being brushed by the same tongue that was glued to the toxic Feselady for years. The nasty rash that comes with it.
The itchiness of such tongues.
Now is not the time to teach Majoro to avoid hanger-on jostling for his attention.

He has seen it all. The boys at the State House had their tongues bruised.
He is also smart enough to know that when the end has come no amount to legal gymnastics will save a leader. For weeks we have watched Thabane twisting and turning as he tried to delay his exit.

His spin doctors said he will only go in July. It was as if he had control over his fate.
Then we had mumbo jumbo from pseudo political analysts who tried to teach us about politics.

Enter the Attorney General with his damp squib of a legal opinion that read like it was written by a paralegal.
“Unless I haven’t read the provision well enough there seems to me..,” said the AG in one of the statements in the opinion.

He was giving legal advice about a constitutional matter but admitting that he might not have read the law well. No conviction whatsoever.
In the end it was clear that someone was probably been looking over his shoulder as he wrote that embarrassing opinion.

If this is the last legal opinion the AG will give to the government then he has soiled his reputation. Henceforth First-Year law students will use it as an example of how not to write a legal opinion.

We also had a battalion of nincompoops insisting on ingratiating themselves with Thabane and the Feselady even when it was apparent that their time was over.

One day Fako Moshoeshoe will have to answer why he thought it prudent to dismount a fit four-legged horse and clamber a two-legged on.
The same applies to all those who were ululating for Uncle Tom as he clung on to power with his nails. Nyoe, nyoe Uncle Tom has nine lives. My foot!
Blah, blah Uncle is a scheming politician. Well, he schemed himself out of power.

The lesson from all this is that most people are not as clever as they claim to be.
There was never any doubt, even to pigs, that Uncle Tom was on his way out.

Nka! Ichuuuuuuuuuuu!

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The market of rascals



THE Market’s management is either high on something illegal or just reckless.
They could also be either proudly incompetent or simply daft.
Muckraker suspects they are high, reckless, incompetent and daft.
That is a heavy burden to carry but self-inflicted and deserved.

Their job is to feed tummies and quench thirsts but they believe they are capable of many jobs. In addition to cooking chickin, they fancy themselves to be detectives, expert witnesses, rape experts, psychologists, communication gurus, criminologists, prosecutors, CCTV analysts and many other things they conjure up in their small minds.
That much is lavishly clear from their crude statement reacting to a woman who alleges she was raped in their toilet last week.
Instead of just acknowledging the alleged incident, The Market was sweating to testify, analyse evidence, scrutinise footage and play judge.
They tell us the alleged victim arrived at the restaurant “heavily intoxicated” as if they had measured the alcohol content in her blood.
They say she had left an “unpaid bill” at another restaurant as if they were the Small Claims Court.
They claim CCTV footage shows the victim coming out of the toilets holding hands with her alleged attacker as if they are certain that the handholding was consensual and not one dragging the other. Make no mistake about the sinister motive behind those salacious details sprinkled all over the statement.
They were gathering wood for a pyre to burn the woman and her allegations.
Their demented reasoning is something like this: she could not have been raped because she was intoxicated, absconded her bill down the street and was holding hands with the alleged attacker. None of those things have been proven and they might be just shameless lies told by uncouth characters.
The point, accepted by everyone else except some nincompoops, is that The Market should not have mentioned anything about a bill or intoxication. They are not just trivialising her serious allegations but also calling her a drunk who dodges bills and lies about being raped.
They do this by telling what they believe to be a cogent tale to illustrate that her story is incredible.
Muckraker read that clumsy statement several times and each time she was further disgusted by both the writer and The Market as a business.
They say the gentleman from another restaurant who is “well known to The Market staff” claimed that the woman had left an unpaid bill. That is not some random anecdote but an attempt to justify why they allowed him into the bar after they had closed.
It could also be a flimsy attempt at saying the man could not have violated the woman because he is “well known” to them.
As soon as the narration started Muckraker knew The Market was on an evil path.
And boy, did they march with vigour.
They say while the two were discussing the unpaid bill, the victim “indicated that she needed the bathroom”. Then comes the killer line in the statement: “Moments later, the said gentleman also walked to the bathroom, where after a while they both emerged holding hands”.
The public is invited to conclude that the discussion about the unpaid bill was resolved in the toilet and the two “emerged holding hands”.
In other words, whatever was said or happened in the toilet was so mutual that a debt was settled and hands were held.
The victim blaming and bashing could have ended there but The Market was just getting started.
After social media clobbered them for their callous and inept statement, The Market came back with a second one pretending to be correcting the first one.
This time they tried to sanitise the first statement by weeding out the offensive parts but avoided withdrawing the first statement and sincerely apologising to the woman.
They forget that people will never unlearn what they learned from the first statement and are most likely to read the second statement as an update rather than a correction.
But just like that, The Market thinks they have dodged the bullet so they can go back to their cooking and notorious upselling.
Their message to women is stinging: “It’s your funeral if you run away from a bill and get raped in our toilets. We will protect ourselves and the suspects at all costs. For good measure, we will tell the public you enjoyed free drinks and got so drunk that you made allegations of rape against our friend who was only trying to get you to pay”.
Muckraker will not speculate on what happened but can say, without fear or favour, that The Market’s management are unmitigated and unrepentant rascals. Only a business managed by accredited scoundrels reacts with such brazen thuggery to allegations of rape on its premises. Muckraker didn’t say CHE accredits scoundrels but that the mischief exhibited by The Market is of such high quality that it deserves a certification of sorts and at a higher level. It’s Level 8 stuff.
Nka! Ichuuuuuuuuuuuu


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The Market of nonsense



You are wrong if you think The Market’s statement about the alleged rape in their toilets is just terrible public relations or some error of judgment.
The statement reflects society’s attitude towards rape victims and women in general. That much is clear in the statement’s tone.

The statement says the alleged victim was “heavily intoxicated” but the truth is that its author was drunk from both something illegal and prejudice.
Even someone who had drunk all the beer, ciders, cocktails, whisky, gin and brandy in The Market would not come up with such a statement. This is top-notch BS rehearsed over years and expertly mastered. The Makhadzi dance to the alleged victim’s trauma.
But there is more to show their contempt for the alleged victim.
The one-page statement mentions the alleged victim’s name five times. Five!
It has 11 sentences and mentions the victim’s name in five of them.
It is unethical to mention rape victims by name but The Market did it anyway because they probably wanted to remind everyone that she is “that woman”.
You can bet your last January kobo that some dunderheads will justify naming her on the basis that she had already identified herself by posting the incident on social media. Nonsense!
The Market had no right to identify her by name in their statement.
They didn’t seek her consent. And even if they did, it’s still unethical.
To see that mentioning her name five times was not an innocent mistake you have to check how many times the statement mentions her alleged attacker‘s name. Zero!
This is despite that the alleged victim had revealed his name, or at least part of it, on social media. They call him “a staff member of one of the establishments at Maseru” and a “gentleman”.
They don’t even say the man is from one of the establishments at Maseru Mall because that would instantly narrow the list and expose him.
So they resort to saying “Maseru” as if Maseru City is synonymous with Maseru Mall. The idea was to keep his identity as vague as possible. Even if the alleged victim had not mentioned his name The Market knew him because the statement says he is “well known to The Market staff”.
There is a method to the madness here. The Market was at pains to protect the alleged attacker while loudly shouting the victim’s name. Ideally, neither the victim nor the suspect should have been mentioned by name. She is a victim of rape and the suspect was yet to appear in court.
Those with an eye for detail might have also noticed that The Market unashamedly tries to pretend to have suddenly discovered the woman’s rape allegations on her Facebook page. She reported to their staff soon after the alleged incident.
Muckraker will end this depressing story with one more observation.
The Market’s statement mentions “toilets” as if they have many toilets.
The reality is that it’s one toilet for men and women. The main entrance is the same and so is the washing area.
On busy nights you can use either of the cubicles. Muckraker has seen men budging into the women’s cubicle and vice-versa. “Hona le motho!” is a common scream in that toilet.
Muckraker has bumped into men with open zips and women pulling up their pants in the washing area. Women fixing their bras bump heads with men tucking in their shirts.
Whoever designed that toilet has a brain the size of the punctuation mark at the end of this sentence.
There are no words for those who thought it fit to be used by their patrons.
Nka! Ichuuuuuuuuuuuu


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Is Kabi a real lekoloane?



Is Kabi a real lekoloane? That is not a trick question so don’t bother scratching your stressed head.
Even the goats in Matatiele, where he is alleged to have been initiated, know he is not a real lekoloane.
They know what he did last December and are as disgusted as the other makoloane who rightly feel he has cheated his way to the title.

The Matatiele goats know that other initiates had to spend at least five weeks at the initiation school to earn the honour of being called a lekoloane.
The leadership of the national initiation committee says claiming to be a lekoloane after just 72 hours at an initiation school is “unacceptable”.
Muckraker will call it fraud until Kabi proves otherwise.
Muckraker is not saying this to humiliate Kabi. He is a good fella but the stubborn reality is that he didn’t complete the course and therefore has no business pretending to be qualified.
It’s not as if Kabi entered the school with credits from another school. There was no transfer letter.
If there is a letter he should name his former principal.
He cannot claim to have attended initiation classes through Zoom and then went to complete the course with some practicals for 72 hours. He didn’t do distance learning because initiation schools are not UNISA.
There is no crash course in initiation school. That he qualified for mature entry doesn’t mean he could just sneak into the school hours before graduation and then claim to be a certified lekoloane.
The issue is not whether Kabi believes he is a real lekoloane because that doesn’t matter. Being in a plane doesn’t make you a pilot even if you scream to be regarded as one.
Muckraker has visited NUL’s law school but cannot claim to be a lawyer. She has joined the wires on her phone charger but is no electrician.
The real Makoloane are furious because he has cheated his way to their title and wants to be treated as their equal. They are right. Yet what Kabi has done is more serious than stealing a title. He has corrupted the institution of initiation.
He had no excuse for pulling the 72-hour trick at the initiation school.
Parliament was closed, they had dismally failed to topple Uncle Sam and his party is dead. He cannot claim he was busy running the ABC because Feselady and her hubby are still in charge.
For the past week, Muckraker has been wondering why Kabi could deliberately inflict such dishonour on himself.
The answer is that Kabi is entitled like other politicians. He wants to have the best for his minimum effort.
They want to earn the best perks but still claim to be the people’s humble servants. They want the people to vote for them for merely being present or promising something.
When held to the highest standards they point to the incompetence of other politicians.
Their favourite refrain is “at least….”
Kabi desperately wanted to be a lekoloane but was not prepared to put in the work.
The second part of the answer is that Kabi, like other politicians, thought he could get away with it. It’s an attitude informed by the general contempt politicians have for those they believe are beneath them.
It’s just that he has underestimated the resolve of other initiates to protect their institution from fraudsters and imposters.
Now he will be remembered as a political leader who was caught, pants down, masquerading as a lekoloane. The national initiation committee has said he is not wanted near an initiation school and if he is seen in the vicinity he will be forced to repeat the course.
Muckraker thinks “repeat” is not the right word. He will be starting from Grade 1, doing the ‘a, e, i, o, u’ of initiation school.
Kabi is worse than a high school dropout because dropouts don’t show up for graduation.
He is worse than those who insist on using the honorary doctorate title because, at least, that title is given voluntarily. There is nothing called an honourary lekoloane. You are either or not.
Those who cheat in exams are way better than him because, at least, they would have attended classes and qualified for exams but are just too daft. Kabi didn’t attend classes or take the exam.
He just arrived when others were rehearsing their graduation songs, got himself smeared with ochre and proudly walked to the podium to be capped.
Kabi is welcome to call himself a lekoloane but he will be a lekoloane in his head and not to anyone else.
He might as well have spent the 72 hours plotting to topple Uncle Sam because he will never be a lekoloane even if he smears himself with a Maqalika of ochre and recites initiation songs a million times.
A man who is not initiated is called a leqai but what do we call one who tries to cheat their way to initiation?
Let’s call him a kabi. And that is a real title because it is earned. Finally, oh finally, Kabi has invented something useful. Hooray!
Nka! Ichuuuuuuuuuuuu


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