BY now the Feselady must have settled into some sort of a routine. Bath, smear some make-up, wear her Sunday best and bask in the sun while reminiscing about the good old days.
Stripped of her dozens of aides, she will have to do some mundane chores in the house.
She also has her soiled reputation to clean.
A little bit of adult education would not hurt. Get some education sister!
In between the moments of rumination she will bake some bread, watch the Muvhango repeats and catch up on the Real Housewives of Johannesburg (a silly reality show about lazy women spending their husbands’ monies and quarrelling over who has the best manicure).
When bored she can flip through the latest edition of Moeletsi oa Basotho.
In the afternoon she will catch up on the latest gossip and insults about her.
There will be a prayer in the evening (she needs a lot of that) and another Muvhango edition. The following day she will do the same. On Fridays she will see a shrink to help her adjust to the new life without the trappings of power. Saturdays are good times to visit a sangoma to help her fend off the witches who want to finish her off for good. Sunday is obviously prayer day.
Given the number of enemies she has amassed, the woman needs both pastors and shamans.
Now that she is out of the State House, Muckraker will not waste any more ink on her.
There is no point in kicking a sister who is down and out. Her shenanigans will haunt her for a long time. It’s her business. Like a pig, she must be allowed to roast in her own fat.
But what is becoming clear is that for all her tomfoolery, the Feselady was only a small player in the toxic politics that felled Uncle Tom.
Her crime was to take things too far. Power must be imbibed in sips not gulps.
She however thrust a lituntoana on her scrumptious lips and refused to let go.
She was sloshed and lost control of her mouth. It didn’t matter that she didn’t have much control of that beak even before she became intoxicated with power.
Her enemies seized on her inebriation and she became a convenient scapegoat for every wrong that happened in her hubby’s government.
She was blamed for corruption, droughts, hunger and the weather.
Even the stray dogs in the villages were of her making. People would see an emaciated dog rummaging through their bins and say: “Oa ’mona Feselady oa hao”.
Rats and cockroaches were her creations. When rats invaded their house they would say: Ke mofere-fere oa Feselady.”
Even the police minister’s drinking habits were placed on her doorstep.
“Ke Moramotse oa Feselady,” they would say.
All this is not to say she was an innocent victim of a vicious smear campaign.
Her actions made her the ideal villain. The shoe fit her squarely.
For that, she has to own much of the criticism that came her way.
Yet events over the past few days have shown the inanity of blaming the government’s ills on one or two vile characters.
At the core of our problems is the rotten system of the politics of the stomach and entitlement.
For evidence of that look no further than the drama unfolding in the government.
As Uncle Tom returns to Abia a new fight has erupted in the government.
Prime Minister Moeketsi Majoro (Muckraker is still pondering an ideal nickname for him and will welcome suggestions) is being pilloried for not dishing out cabinet posts to some All Basotho Convention (ABC) MPs.
We are told he did not consult the executive committee when he parcelled out the posts.
The screams will only get louder in the next few days as zealots take to the airwaves on our patently biased and incompetent radio stations to bellow about the so-called injustice.
We will hear inane stories about some districts being side-lined as if ours is a federal system where location rather than competence decides who gets to be a minister.
There will be talk of favouritism. Yet we must never be under any illusion that this brouhaha is about consultation or fair representation.
This has nothing to do with the country getting the most capable cabinet. Never!
Rather, it is the same archaic and noxious fight about plum positions.
We should therefore not be shocked about the screams from the MPs and their hangers on.
This fracas over positions only shows that we have refused to break with the past.
To our politicians any cabinet that doesn’t include them is not good enough.
It is not that they think they can do a better job. That is why there is no mention of the quality of people in the cabinet. Not that those who got the positions are any better.
The point is that people just want to be appointed because they are MPs. It’s about getting a piece of the cake. Nothing more.
This is the same shrieking that happened under Uncle Tom when his yellowbone was accused of pummelling her bootlickers with government positions.
Back then, as is now, the issue was about opportunities.
Forget the uproar about a bloated cabinet. That is not the real issue here. A smaller cabinet would have been met with the same grumbles. A bigger one would still have left out some people.
Either way, there was always going to be someone crying.
Even if every MP is appointed to the cabinet some people will still be sore.
Dr Majoro can split the ministries all he wants but the whines will continue.
Divide the Ministry of Public Works and Transport into ministries of combis, 4plus ones, roofs, foundations, roads, potholes and drivers’ licences.
Home Affairs can be split into ministries of IDs, passports, immigration, birth certificates and death certificates. Unbundle the Ministry of Health into ministries of hospitals, clinics, doctors, Covid-19, headaches, STIs, malnutrition and flu.
For mines we can have ministries of diamonds, quarrying, sand and gravel.
Education will have ministries of crèches, primary schools, high schools, teachers, principals, temporary teachers, books and chalks.
Tourism can be split into ministries of lodges, hotels, curio shops, crafts, parks and day rest.
The Ministry of Police can be split into ministries of constables, sergeants, new recruits, murders, rape, stock theft and shoplifters.
We can stretch it all we want but the positions will never be enough. The point is that we are stuck with the same poisonous politics.
Dr Majoro should brace himself for a bumpy ride. He is now the headmaster of a kindergarten full of rascals called politicians.
There will be scoundrels peeing in their lunch boxes, fondling classmates, throwing tantrums, scratching each other, peeping into skirts, spraying their dung on walls, comparing their ‘things’ in the playground and bunking classes. This is not the IMF, chief.
This is the madhouse you wanted to lead.
It’s your baby, kiss it.
Mwah, mwah and mwah. Count your teeth afterwards.
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!
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.
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.
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