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The crazy madam



It’s a pity that humans cannot walk into a market to buy a dozen of manners like eggs. If that was the case Muckraker would have profusely pleaded for donations to get the Feselady a scotch-cart of manners.
And you can be sure that within a few minutes the Feselady would have a warehouse full of manners. That is because everyone, including rats, can see that the lady is in dire need of some manners.
That much has been clear for the past three years, during which she has fragrantly paraded her lack of decorum in the most outrageous of ways.

This is the Feselady who fights at a hospital, threatens to clobber waiters, berates people for calling her husband, barks instructions at government officials and tells a whole prime minister to sing hymns. Now she has taken her antics to court.
Only a person without manners can skip the country when asked to report to the police for questioning.
But it gets worse. After three weeks on the run the Feselady casually walked into a police station as if she was just coming from an extended visit to a VIP.
“Ke nna enoa,” she probably said as she walked into a police station.
This week we discovered that not even a murder charge can infuse manners into her bones. She remains haughty and despicable.

On Monday she strutted into the magistrates’ court as if she was Naomi Campbell on a catwalk ramp. In tow was her husband whose sullen demeanour perfectly fit the occasion.
Uncle Tom has the mind to grasp the meaning of the occasion to himself, his wife, his family and the country.
Here was a whole prime minister about to be charged with his wife’s murder.
Swaggering ahead of him was his wife who is accused of the same murder.
No wonder his eyes were cast down as he avoided looking at the gallery. Yet his wife would not allow the misery and shame of that surreal moment to steal her limelight.
Arrogant all the way, she tried to turn what should have been a walk of shame into a walk of honour.

A journalist snapping pictures caught her eye as she was about to walk out of the court. She turned, peeped from under her hat and told the journalist to stop taking her pictures because “it’s not right”. Here was a murder suspect walking in a court with her husband who is accused of murder but her only irritation was that someone was taking her pictures.

That is to say that even in her moment of extreme shame the Feselady still thinks she can bark instructions at people. Muckraker was stunned by her lack of sense of occasion.
It’s not as if the Feselady did not know that she will be a star of this show and journalists were going to jostle for her picture. She was dressed for the photo shoot. She probably ordered one of her aides to get her that outfit for the court appearance.

The hat perched on her weaved head made for a great photo. Her step said “watch me nae nae”.
To top it all she was walking in front of her entourage as if she was the one to be charged.
That moment of disgrace belonged to Uncle Tom but the Feselady could not resist stealing it.
She led when she was charged and led when her husband was about to be charged.
That’s the Feselady for you, always leading from the front even when it’s a contest of wallowing in the mud. She bounced in the court as if she was a guest of honour at a wedding, behaving like that rich aunt who comes to the wedding late just to make a grand entry so people can talk about how she had funded the shindig and is filling the tummies.

If she didn’t want journalists to take her pictures then she should have stayed at home or hid under chairs at the court. One of Uncle Tom’s bodyguards could have given her his oversized suit jacket to cover her face. She could have worn a balaclava instead of that fashion hat.
If the balaclava was going to make her look like a cattle herder she could have worn a Halloween mask. If that was not to her taste then a cardboard box or a Shoprite paper bag would have served the purpose.
She is a murder suspect just like her husband. She therefore cannot decide who takes her pictures. An accused person cannot be bellowing instructions at journalists or anyone.
She is a former fugitive.

The Feselady just doesn’t get it. She cannot have her cake and eat it. She has been inviting journalists to her birthdays and events where she was giving food and blankets to orphans.
At all those occasions she would smile ear to ear as journalists took pictures.
She didn’t stop journalists taking the pictures of her needlessly long gown at her wedding.
When journalists were not at hand she took selfies which she dispatched to friends who she knew would send them to everyone. Remember the video of the singing couple.

We recall pictures of the State House braai that got tongues wagging.
Now that she is in the dock she sees those journalists as enemies. Holy dung!
Perhaps the saddest part is that the Feselady doesn’t know that the jig is up. By July she will be a common Mosotho woman from Ha Abia. Her life as a haughty and highflying First Lady will be replaced by a life of court appearances. From Feselady to accused number 1.

And if the police have it their way she might end up as inmate number mang mang. Some prison warder will control when she eats and visits the toilet. She will see Pioneer Mall through that tall fence. No make-up but just a bar of soap. A cold shower will hit that yellow skin until it cracks.
And only then can she avoid photo shoots. In the meantime she should just drink some water, shut up and let journalists record her demise for posterity.
She owes those pictures to future first ladies who have to learn that power should never replace manners.

Still on this drama, Muckraker cannot understand why people suddenly become eager to tell us about their illnesses when facing charges.
The Feselady said she had a doctor’s appointment when she was pleading for bail.
She told the court that she was on medication.
Last week Uncle Tom also declared himself ill when he was supposed to appear in court.
We are now being told that a prime minister who once said he was fit to rule the country is now too frail to appear in court. The same man who has been fighting tooth and nail to remain in office is now too sick to be driven five hundred metres from his office to the magistrates’ court. Phew!

Imagine what would have happened two months ago if a journalist had written that the Feselady and Uncle Tom were sick. There would have been a statement from one of the nurses at the State House, cheekily declaring that Uncle Tom was as fit as a butcher’s dog.
Their zealots would have jammed the airwaves with insults, reminding us all that the prime minister’s health is none of our business. But these are different times, so frailties have to be advertised.

Nka! Ichuuuuuuuuuuu!

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Let them take korobela



Nqosa Mahao has pulled a fast one on his opposition comrades to join Uncle Sam’s government. Muckraker suspected the bromance among the opposition leaders would end in tears but never expected Mahao to do the betraying. The lesson is that there is no honour among politicians and everyone has a price. The BAP’s price is two cabinet seats and some morsels to be flung its way here and there.
The opposition is furious at Mahao for stringing them along for three weeks while Uncle Sam whispered sweet little things in his ears.

They say Mahao attended their nocturnal meetings to plot Uncle Sam’s demise but was busy with a plan to get himself a mok’huk’hu in the government.
Their screams of anger are hypocritical. They too would have been charmed for the right price. Mahao just happened to have yielded earlier than them. None of them can claim that they were not approached by the RFP or its dealmakers.

No one could claim that they refused the RFP’s marriage proposal because they differed on ideology and principle. The only sticking issue was what was offered and what they thought their support was worthy. So let’s bin the hypocrisy and confirm that some of them overreached and overestimated their value by holding out for more spoils. It’s not their business if Mahao sold himself too cheap.

He was smart enough to understand that the market of political support was already flooded. That is being pragmatic.
In the end, it was a simple matter of demand and supply. Uncle Sam played the game well by lodging a scarecrow of a court case to delay the vote of no confidence to buy himself time. That blindsided the opposition leaders and allowed Uncle Sam to counterattack.

So while Lehata was laughing like a hyena in parliament and the opposition congregated at the BNP Centre for drinks Uncle Sam was cooking some delicious dish across town. It was only a matter of time before the aroma reached the politicians’ noses.

So while they were claiming to be united most of them were busy receiving calls to hear what was on the menu. It was a buffet of embassies and cabinet seats. The desserts were deputy minister positions and some small jobs for hungry supporters. The only problem with some of the opposition leaders was that they wanted to eat the whole buffet, including Uncle Sam’s portion.

Meanwhile, Uncle Sam was busy gauging what was enough to satiate the hungriest among the opposition leaders. In the end, he knew he didn’t have to part with much to get the deal and the numbers he wanted. Some politicians are saying Mahao could have asked for more because Uncle Sam was desperate and cornered. Not true!

Your tomatoes do not cost more simply because you worked hard to produce them or you think they are special. It’s the market that decides.
To get more for them you should get the timing right. The same applies to political support. Uncle Sam knew the market of political support would be oversupplied if he waited a few days before buying.

By the time he came to the market the available political support was about to rot and everyone was willing to sell at a huge discount. This is common sense but some opposition leaders want to pretend Mahao ambushed them by selling fast.

Muckraker suggests that next time they plot against Uncle Sam, the opposition leaders should visit a sangoma to give them all a huge dose of korobela so that none is tempted to find another lover. The best love portion comes from the North of us. Mwa, mwa, mwa!

Nka! Ichuuuuuuuuuuuu

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How to share a stolen goat



Those who think Uncle Sam is now safe from the barbarians at the gates are naïve. Mahao’s defection is a temporary setback from which the opposition leaders are plotting to recover.
They are coming because Uncle Sam is holding something they cannot live without: power.
And they will not rest until they get it. Those who believe this fight is based on principle and ideology are unmitigated dimwits. Their claim that Uncle Sam’s government has failed is just a cover to justify their plot. They know they would not do a better job.

Everyone knows that because they have seen their epic bungling when they had a chance to rule.
The notoriety of their thievery, corruption, deliberate mismanagement and nepotism precedes them. They say Uncle Sam has failed to implement his party’s campaign promises but forget that some of them failed several times. If this was about ideology and principle it would reflect in the negotiations for coalitions. In countries where politicians still have morsels of self-respect and specks of shame, such negotiations would be dominated by ideological and policy considerations.

Political parties try to find some common ground on fundamental issues like the economy, education, climate change, trade and foreign policy.
Our rascals here talk about ministerial and diplomatic positions as if they are sharing a stolen goat; I want the head, give me likahare.

My ancestors said I should always eat the testicles. Give me the liver, I don’t have teeth. The heart is my favourite. In a way, our government is like a stolen goat being shared by thieves. Ba ja maleo.

It’s a fat goat stolen from Basotho. The politicians will eat it and not leave even the skin for Basotho to make a mat to lay on when hungry. The thieves are eating while the people watch.

Yet we people never tire to give the politicians the permission to rob and pee on them.
It’s tempting to say we deserve it but no one, not even the Devil, deserves the politicians we have in this country. Some say there is hell somewhere. Muckraker says we are already in a hell of some sort created by our politicians. We are being roasted slowly by politicians and they will never stop.

Does that make you feel depressed and hopeless? Well, you are not alone. There are worse places on this earth. Does that mean we should accept tosh because there is worse tosh in other places?
Well, it’s your choice.

Muckraker wishes you a wet weekend. Let’s hope Uncle Sam throws us a party to celebrate his great escape. You marched for him, didn’t you?
A beer is what you deserve for sweating from Maseru Mall to parliament.

Nka! Ichuuuuuuuuuuuu

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Give Lehata a Bell’s



Mootsi Lehata behaved like a clown in parliament last week. Laughing like he was in a shebeen. Spewing insults as if someone had stolen his goats. He even used the ‘F’ word on Lejone Mpotjoane.
“Moshanyana enoa a se ke a ntella. Se ke oa ntella sonny, f**k you,” he said in response to Mpotjoane. Muckraker doesn’t know Mpotjoane to be a moshanyana. What she knows is what Lehata did to a ngoanana a few years ago.

The girl dropped the rape case on the condition that Lehata builds her a house and pays for the child’s upkeep. So ke eena ea tellang molao. Some might say it’s water under the bridge but Muckraker doesn’t forgive. Never!

For now, we should talk about his monkeyshines in parliament. He looked high on something. Lehata can however deny it. He can say he was shaking because he had spent sleepless nights plotting to topple Uncle Sam. He can claim he was shaking with excitement at the prospect of becoming a minister again. If that doesn’t cut it he can say wasn’t drunk but just suffering from a hangover.

That might work because he could say those who say he was drunk on that Monday should have seen him on Sunday. He could claim he was still suffering the effects of knocking down several bottles taller than him.
But whatever happens, no one can prove that he was high.

Yes, a test could have revealed that he had blood in his alcohol but that is now beside the point because it didn’t happen. In any case, Muckraker has seen worse things in parliament. Remember how some MPs spanked each other a few years ago?

Chairs and bins were given wings. An MP was once captured on camera groping another.
As for insults, worse things have been said. Some of the MPs don’t need to be insulted to feel humiliated. Imagine how it feels to be an LCD MP.
You see it in their faces that they are beating themselves.

No wonder they are not even mentioned as part of the opposition. They are not in opposition, not government and not in the crossbench. They are there, somewhere there.

Muckraker would not sleep well if she ended these musings without mentioning one small thing. During the debate on Lehata’s tomfoolery, one opposition MP said the Speaker should protect MPs so that their images are not manipulated to tarnish their reputation. Yeah, right!

You must have a reputation first for it to be tarnished. Muckraker and 98.9 percent of Basotho know 99 percent of our MPs to be freeloading, greedy and power-hungry charlatans.
That is their reputation. Those who say our MPs are honest and hardworking are tarnishing that sterling reputation.

Nka! Ichuuuuuuuuuuuu

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