PUNCH a Mosotho and he will bellow. ‘M’e oe! But pinch him and he will use a gun or a knife to send you to meet your Maker.

Steal a few coins from him and he will dispatch you to your ancestors, pronto. Steal millions from them, like Simon Thebe-Ea-Khale did not so years ago, and they just cry with hands over their heads. That is just how we are.

We are incapable of reacting accordingly. We make mountains out of mole hills.
This month a non-issue has been sneaked onto the national agenda. Someone somewhere, possibly carrying an empty head or high on a Grade ‘A’ of something illegal, decided it’s time to kick up a fuss about the number of political parties in Lesotho.

Nyoe, Nyoe, nyoe, we have too many parties in this country, some of the excitable souls preached. Nyoe, nyoe, nyoe, nyoe they are a threat to our democracy. Blah, blah, blah Lesotho is too small for 26 or 27 parties.

Nyoe, Nyoe, they add neither grass nor trees to the political landscape. My foot! How such drivel gets concocted in someone’s head before it is emitted through the mouth is a mystery crying out to be revealed by the many ngakas and fake prophets who pervade our streets.

For the record, Muckraker cannot stand loudmouths except herself because she is a licenced blabbermouth. The uncertified chatterboxes in our midst have been manufacturing the brouhaha about Lesotho having too many political parties.

Behind this artificial storm is a flawed reasoning propped up by dubious examples.
America, they say with crimson eyes, has two parties for a population of 300 million. Look at Australia and the United Kingdom, the say with gusto as if they have been struck by a Eureka moment.
In their legendary naivety, journalists like to join the chorus. A discord that ruptures our eardrums is what we get.

Some have even written editorials about the issue. One columnist, who labours under the illusion that people still take her as seriously as she does herself, has been stuck on this issue like a broken vinyl.

Sadly, no one has bothered to whisper to her that it’s no longer fun. So what if there are zillions of political parties in a country of two million?

Ironically, that ‘so what question’ is one our so-called commentators, journalists, analysts and many of similar stripe have never bothered to ask. Yet it is the one that should guide every argument, article or radio programme.

The next time you find yourself being lured into such a mundane debate you must slap yourself and ask “So what?”

You see, democracy at its most rudimental level is about peoples’ choices. Therefore, anyone who sees something wrong with people forming political parties is a closeted dictator.
It’s worse when they claim to be democrats or have their own political party.  We can have political parties for rats, cows, pigs, goats and lizards.

Morons, idiots, psychos and perverts are allowed to form their own political parties.
Why should they not when there is no proof that those already leading the other parties do not fall into one those categories.

How would you define that bearded politician for instance? There is nothing to him apart from his well-documented grudge with the shaving machine. Give the man a razor blade, please!

Muckraker did not call the man any names. It’s just that it takes truckloads of courage to run a party whose only supporters are your relatives.

Still, that doesn’t mean his is a totally useless party or that it should be wiped off the face of this country or that parties that might turn out to be as pathetic as his should be clobbered before they are formed.

To do either of those would be to sabotage democracy as we know it. Methinks the number of political parties has nothing to do with the price of bread.

It is a pointless debate whose ultimate destination is boredom. After spending hours shouting our voices croaky over the issue we will find that we have achieved zilch. Zippo! It’s a shivoo that has no dancing, drinks, music or singing.

In this debate what moves is only time and not distance. The upsetting reality is that this is a ‘debate’ manufactured by pseudo-elites who have convinced themselves that they know what is best for the people.

Muckraker is talking about those poorly educated nincompoops used to lecturing villagers about everything. It turns out that the people who vote, those whose votes really decide who stays in State House, have no use for such tosh.

To them the noise from the pseudo-elites is just a fart waiting to be blown away by a breeze. That is because they know how to sift through the morass of political parties. They have the tenacity to hold their noses and dip their hands into the septic tank.

And even they pull out a maggot of a political party that is their business and choice. The pseudo-elites can eat their hearts out. The ‘experts’ can fume until donkeys are wearing miniskirts but that will not change a thing.

It’s not as if the big parties are offering anything substantial. They are all selling hokum.  Without exception, all are flogging warm water at a market. They are rotten fruits of nationalist and congress trees.

They all stink. Yeh, I said it! And all you can do is ask ‘who the hell does she think she is’ as if that will soothe your roiled heart. Keep at it for that is a national hobby: Asking for the credentials of those who have said something instead of looking at the import of what has been said.

We are a country that will investigate someone’s totem, sexuality, marriage status, academic qualification and even salary before we digest what he has to say.

The result is that we confuse status for substance, positions for qualifications and voyeurism for acumen.

Yet when more clowns want to climb this wagon of mediocrity we scream as if someone has set a fire on our behinds.

Right now there are those who are yelping incessantly about the number of political parties. Hooray, we have found more hogwash to keep our mouths busy.

Meanwhile those we elevated to be our leaders, whether in government or opposition, are busy bungling with vim. They are frog-marching this country to the top of Thabana-Ntlenyane from where they will shove it downhill.

That is what they have done exceptionally well since this country gained its right to have a flag, a national anthem and put a black face in the State House. They call it independence.
And what do we make of their tomfoolery? Well, we sing, dance, whistle and ululate. That is what we are in the political sphere: donors of votes and court jesters.

Let the silliness spread, unfettered. Years from now we will sit under a peach tree and ponder about where we went wrong.

Botswana and Namibia would have graduated into developed countries. All we will say is if, if, if and if.

We must pray that by then there will still be a country called Lesotho. Muckraker will not bet her last kobo on that one.