It is said in the Holy Book that in the beginning was the Word, that the word was with God, and the Word was a god.
This verse/s from the book of John hold a meaning so deep that its depth may be thought of as complex, but the truth is that the meaning thereof the is very simple: watch your words for from them stem the truths about the power of what you can reach and achieve in life if you learn to say the right words; what you can lose if you say the wrong words over your life and the lives of others.
We often have our own interpretations of who God is, and the meanings we attach to God are many and varied.
For some He lives in a heaven somewhere in the netherworld beyond the sky, and is possessive of an “all seeing” eye and a book of minute by minute records on the lives of every individual existent in the world.
I agree with the view, but from what I have come to realise, God is everywhere, at all times, and He is listening to whatever words we say to each other.
What constructive words we say lead on to harmonious living, and those caustic words we utter without thinking at the end of the day come to sow seeds of discord in our lives and the lives of others, leading to the world being an unpleasant place to live in.
The tendency is to forget the power of our words, to forget that the power of life and death is found on the tips of our tongues.
I am thinking of the words of the most memorable patrons of peace in the world, from Jesus Christ to King Moshoeshoe, from Mahatma Ghandi to Martin Luther King Jnr, Nelson Mandela to Steve Biko.
Their words served as the salve that assuaged the pain of the world, they served as patches that mended the fabric of a humanity torn apart by strife and war.
And I think of those poets of Africa whose words unite us in song and dance, melding us into one peaceful and united circle of existence as taught in the Batwa communities of the mighty Congo.
I am thinking of the poets of Africa whose words unite us, whose words gathered us in the pre-independence days, whose words still go on to unite us.
A brief biography of Herbert Wiltshire Pfumaindini Chitepo states that he was born on June 15th 1923 and led the Zimbabwe African National Union (ZANU) until he was assassinated on March 18, 1975.
Although his murderer remains unidentified, the Rhodesian author Peter Stiff says that a former British SAS soldier, Hugh Hind, was responsible.
Chitepo became the first black citizen of Rhodesia to become a barrister. He was born in Watsomba village in the Nyanga District of Southern Rhodesia, now Zimbabwe.
His family came from the Manyika clan of the Shona people.
He was educated at St David’s Mission School, Bonda, St Augustine’s School, Penhalonga and then at Adams College, Natal, South Africa, where he qualified as a teacher in 1945.
The stories of his life on the web are very brief and whatever information it is one gets on this rightfully honourable figure of African politics and the best poet I have come across is very vague.
I personally declare him the best African poet because I had the opportunity to read his Soko Risina Musoro (A Tale Without A Head), and upon comparison with the many poets whose words and verses, I have found none more masterful, none more subtle but explicit in the expression of the words of an individual’s life; the poem is a clear portrait of who we are as Africans and human beings, and one cannot help but follow the tale without a head to its end and then reread it.
The voice of Herbert Chitepo has wrongly been silenced; it is the voice of the pioneer who taught Africa how to think.
It is honestly hard to find his works, but I encourage the children of Africa to go out in search of Ntate Chitepo’s words if we are to make any meaningful progress from here onwards.
The words of our scribes, of our politicians, our philosophers and analysts should strive towards maintaining the continuum of human unity; party or ecumenical divisions will not serve us well: they will not do us right if they are focused on division on the basis of belief and creed.
It is an honour when one sees a popular figure commit to improving the lives of those segregated or marginalised by their colour or state of being over which they have no control.
The physically disabled, the expatriates, the émigrés, those with albinism, and those with rare or common medical challenges should not be limited to only the squalid quarters of human existence.
These people should be included by and through all means into the core decision-making processes in any part of the world, because they like everyone else form the human race, and their contribution to the progress of humanity is sufficient enough to keep the wheels of time turning.
We therefore would be wrong to consider them as useless and therefore not worthy of mention.
That émigré walking around selling brooms and other useful house wares is not a man or woman that cowardly ran away from the war on the home front.
Times are really hard on the continent, and we should come to the realisation of one simple fact; being compassionate will help our continent come out of the dark depths into which history plunged us into.
Being inconsiderate of the basic need to feed in order to live is plainly callous and inhuman.
Take the foreigner into your keep and from their experiences you will learn on how to map the right way towards true and harmonious human progress.
Believing the old lie that vainly teaches the children ‘this is my homeland and mine alone’ will surely lead to the demise of this continent, and it will hamper its progress; for in every stranger you meet lie the answers to questions you have always wanted answered.
Of a royal bloodline that spans the vast breadth of our history, Salif Keita was not meant to sing, for his work is in opposition to the customs and the traditions of his land.
However, the laws of nature oftentimes ignore human rules, and this saw this giant born with albinism soar to heights of stardom on the wings of his sonorous voice.
Salif Keita’s music is sung in his native tongue and other languages, but one can hear exactly what message it is he is trying to pass across, and lately, his message has been one of the promotion of the rights of people born with albinism.
His message addresses the plight of our albino brothers and sisters who have to deal with the double edged problem of being born with a skin condition that makes living under the hot African sun hard, and then being hunted like animals because some witchdoctors believe their body parts bring good luck.
I watched those documentaries on the inhuman treatment of albinos in Tanzania and Kwa-Zulu Natal, and I could not help the tears of shame brought by the realisation that the constant wars for human rights have done very little in making us aware that all of us are equal.
I see people born with albinism in our midst; I grew up and lived with them in the various communities I lived in over the course of my brief life.
I have never understood why their difference in pigment should set them apart as unique, when they are in reality viscerally similar to you and I.
Our conceited belief/s that some difference in physiology is a mark of uniqueness is in its plainest terms foolish, because the truth is that the body is an external aspect of the human being, and the mind of the human being accounts for far more than what many choose to place on the pedestal; our perishable body.
The lesson contained in one of the lines of his song is very deep when it comes to revealing the multiplicity and the fragility of our humanness:
I am black, but I am white . . .
We may believe that we are different, but we are not, we may judge each other on the basis of colour and ethnicity, but those aspects do not mean we are different: we are common in more ways than we are different. I believe this is where the wisdom of King Moshoeshoe I is revealed; he successfully formed a nation of many different tribes and clans; ours is a nation that successfully united Bantu and Nguni successfully into a people that speak one language.
The lesson the albino child from the ancient kingdom of Sundiata Keita are in tandem with the philosophy that unites us as a nation; do not think of the San as a mere underling, he is your kin U se ke ua re ho Moroa, ‘Moroa tooe’: we are common despite our different backgrounds, and the black can be seen because there is the white, and the white is brightened when there is a background of black.
I thought I could write more on the issue of the voices that speak on behalf of our people, but there are many voices delivering one message of peace.
The best one can do is emulate what they say in their message, follow the kind of lessons they teach, and have the constant understanding that all of us are more alike than we are different.
Whatever it is that tells us we are “unique” is separatist and should not be followed, that pride parade many of us go on in the name of religious righteousness or political correctness will only serve to set us apart and to render us useless; for we can only work better united.
Our voices united in the name of human harmony and world peace can bring about human prosperity and the welfare of the world, and we can in every essence break down the walls of Jericho if we shout together.
Realising that the individualistic lessons taught on the many walls of our media are tools meant to entrench us in slavery, will help to break us free from the chains of servitude and bondage manned by a few conceited individuals bent on fickle fiscal profit, and a fascination with themselves and the images their countenances reflect in the mirror.
One could try and teach humanity lessons and shout themselves hoarse, the reality however, is that human beings instinctively know what is right, that caring for others and being kind to others is good: we just pretend not to know that caring for the concerns and the rights of others makes us more peaceable figures.
The words we say often undermine the interests of others, offend others, and in the process of our speaking forget that our voices echo our true sentiments.
What we speak echoes into eternity, and I guess we should from this moment onwards be more considerate in the selection of the words we use.
Where the truth needs to be told, let us speak of it with the fervour of the preacher, but the words we use in the course of revealing such a truth should be of a nature that does not negate the realities of hierarchy within our different societies.
There are many constant references to “rights” in the various debates we hold, but one rarely hears of a reference to “responsibilities” in such discourses.
If it is your basic right to express your concerns and you feel you need to exercise it, do it with the full awareness that it does not infringe on the rights of others.
Careless talk in the name of rights has led to the division of entire communities; it plants seeds of social discord that upon blossom bear bitter fruits.
I have thought of voices I have heard and one among them comes back, time and time again reciting a piece of poetry:
Je ne suis pas etranger (I am not a stranger)
I am like you
Je ne suis pas la peste (I am not a disease)
I am your blessing
Come to remove your cursings
Our voices should echo a message of harmony, and we should borrow from those voices in our history whose messages were of true peace and harmony.
For our words will make this a better place to live in than it now is; our voices will set the wrong right.
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ON October 7, 2022 Basotho had an opportunity to decide the future of Lesotho. They did by overwhelmingly voting for the newly formed Revolution for Prosperity (RFP). The party won 57 percent of Lesotho’s 120 seats, confirming it was Basotho’s preferred alternative to combat, amongst other things, the high unemployment rates, devastating poverty, rampant corruption, and alarming everyday cases of gruesome homicides. The time of campaign promises is over, and for the “mighty RFP” as its advocates refer to it, the moment has come to act; to deliver.
So far, it appears that the RFP is cruising smoothly towards the right trajectory; the cabinet of Lesotho’s 11th government is forthcoming about pressing challenges to our economy, as well as mitigating steps it intends to take.
Nonetheless, I should mention that the delivery of the Medium-Term Budget Review in December, was followed by distrustful comments on the free streets of social media.
The Review described the mid-year performance of the economy in reference to the 2022/2023 budget as well as changes that were made in response to emerging problems. However, numerous people stressed that they wanted to hear about redemption plans in lieu of being reminded of the sorry state our nation is.
Their grievances of course, are valid when we begin to contextualise the numbers. Behind every unemployment statistic are university graduates with grim futures and parents who are unable to provide for the fundamental necessities of their children.
Behind every corruption scandal are deserving Basotho who are denied a chance because of nepotism, bribery, and extortion among others.
On the flip slide, I found it crucial that Dr Matlanyane accurately depicted the state of our economy because it confirms that the government is cognisant of the urgent need for reform and the mammoth task of selflessly serving our nation that is on the brink of disintegrating.
With reference to the Statement on the Economy and Finances which Dr Matlanyane presented to parliament on January 5, 2023, the previous ABC-led government ran a series of substantial deficits which ranged between 4 and 8 percent of the GDP in the last five years. This was due to the expenditure that had been growing much faster than the revenue and it perhaps elucidates why the African Development Bank estimates that the ratio of our debt to GDP was 50 percent in 2021.
Simply put, by taking out loans, the government spent more money than it was making.
This poses challenges; increased and persistently large deficits and debt can lead to increased geopolitical risk, rising interest rates, weaker economic growth, higher interest payments, and chronically high inflation. Thus, the RFP-led administration deserves commendations for its intention to challenge the status quo.
The principal goal of the 2023/2024 budget, “From Reconstruction and Recovery to Growth and Resilience” to hasten economic growth that creates jobs, is inclusive and reduces poverty.
In response to persistently large deficits and debt, the 2023/2024 budget promises a fiscal surplus of one billion maloti which will be 2.5 percent of the GDP. It is pertinent to underline that until the end of this fiscal year, these numbers are just aspirations. In any case, I find them to be invigorating aspirations that must eventually become a reality.
On the administration of the budget, Dr Matlanyane and her Finance and Development Planning team need to do some improving. Regarding paragraphs (a), (b), and (c) of Section 12(1) of the Public Financial Management and Accountability Act 2011 (PFMAA), each programme of the government should submit the receipts and expenditure estimates together with the objectives and performance indicators of the programme, and the details of new policy initiatives.
However, at the time of writing this piece, no documents which speak to the aforementioned paragraphs of the PFMAA are publicly available on the website of the Ministry of Finance and Development Planning. Not only does this obscure the budget’s openness, but it also deters citizens from holding government entities accountable.
Additionally, uploading a PFMAA document with missing pages on the website is utter negligence on the part of the Finance and Development Planning Ministry, excluding any indication that it was done on purpose. Page 268 of the PFMAA which I assume begins the legislative mandate of the budget is missing from the PFMAA document that has been uploaded as of the time this article goes for printing.
Concerning recurring expenses, it is unnerving that in this day and age, so many millions of Maloti are spent on printing. Prospects of the Fourth Industrial Revolution including the widespread accessibility of knowledge in digital form. Of course, there is a significant digital divide in the country, but acknowledging the fact that there are circumstances in which printing is unnecessary should be a top priority.
In addition, M249.3 million is proposed for the Ministry of Information, Communication, Technology and Innovation to fund phase II of the e-Government infrastructure project and the expansion of broadband access among other things. For this reason, I anticipated seeing a significant decrease in projected printing expenses over the next two years in lieu of the projected increase.
One thing that needs explanation is why the M567 956.00 proposed for international fares for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and International Relations is lower compared to some ministries.
The same goes for the Ministry of Trade, Industry, Business Development and Tourism for which not even a single Loti has been proposed for international fares.
This is because, theoretically speaking, these two ministries are mandated to play a major role in implementing our foreign policy, therefore, it is only reasonable that their international travel costs should be higher than those of other ministries.
On the contrary, according to the draft budget estimates for the financial year 2023/2024, over one million Maloti is proposed for international fares for the Ministry of Health as well as the Ministry of Information and Communications, Science, Technology and Innovation, M587 640.00 for the Ministry of Education, over two million maloti for the Ministry of Finance and Development Planning, over three million for the Prime Minister’s Office, and M477 645.00 for the Ministry of Public Service, Labour and Employment. The big question is, what is the purpose of international travel for these ministries?
Then there is the big elephant in the room, the unending construction of the Royal Palace. It is now a decade since hundreds of millions of Maloti have been pumped into the building of the Royal Palace.
Yet again, a whopping M393 million has been allocated for the completion of the long-delayed construction of the Royal Palace and Senate. Dejectedly, this allocation surpasses proposed budgets for urgently required development projects which will benefit the whole nation.
While hundreds of thousands of Basotho scrape by daily, why are hundreds of millions of Maloti spent on a single household? Can we, the taxpayers, once and for all get a detailed report of what is going on with the Royal Palace? At the very least, we deserve that much!
- Mosebetsi Khobotlo holds a Bachelor of Political Science cum laude where she majored in Politics, International Relations and Public Administration. She is currently studying for BA Honours International Relations at the University of Pretoria.

I want to show just a few varieties, out of many, through which African women poets tell the stories of women through poetry from about 1840 to the present. Sometimes the women appear to be silent and conservative but with the passage of time they have become direct and radical in their poetry.
Aisha Taymur the Egyptian woman poet writes in a complicated way about her relationship with the traditional Islamic cloth, the hijab. In “With pure virtue’s hand I guard the might of my hijāb” she indicates that far from oppressing her, it identifies her as a free Muslim woman. Contrary to the feeling that education and writing makes a Muslim woman rebellious, Aisha is of a different view:
“The arts of my eloquence, my mind I protected:
talisman dear, hijab’s amulet: danger denies
My literature and my learning did me no harm
save in making me the finest flower of minds wise
Solitary bower, scarf’s knot, are no affliction
nor my gown’s cut nor proud and strong guarded paradise
My bashfulness, no blockade to keep me from the heights”
She is comfortable in her culture and religion. She was one of Egypt’s most distinguished poets, novelists, and social activists. Born in 1840 into a family of Kurdish origins and literary roots, Taymur was a symbol of the women liberation movement since the Ottoman rule. She was well-versed in the Holy Quran and Islamic Jurisprudence, and also wrote poetry in Arabic, Turkish and Persian.
Contrast that with the other Egyptian female poet, Doria Shafik. She was a rather more open and radical voice. She found her environment rather oppressive and indicated that her poetry was going to save as one of the few spaces that allowed her to be herself. In her poem, “Solitude”, she writes:
“Poetry!
In this desert,
where I am drowning
you open more than one way.
In this silence,
the horrible silence
that encircles me,
in the torment of my becoming
you permit me
to act!”
She wrote a lot of poems in the mid 1940’s. In an intelligent way, she wrote and spoke about gradually rising within her culture, going outside but not moving rather too far from tradition which she ironically saw as a shield. She once said the aim of her writings was “To catch the imponderable thread connecting my own very existence to my own past, as well as to my own country’s history and civilisation. The Egypt I knew in my early years was an Egypt awakening from a thousand years’ sleep, becoming conscious of its long sufferings – that it had rights! And I learned in my childhood that the will of the woman can supersede the law.”
Philosophically, she felt that the boundaries of the laws can be extended through both existence and negotiation. For her, freedom is attained even as a woman is holding herself together. She believed in a careful and methodical fight. She ends her poem, “Unburdened” thus:
“My heart is in my hand
Hold it…here it is!
But do be careful with it
It is made of crystal.”
She saw an opportunity to steal the thunder of knowledge which she would use in her home country. Travel and education were not just for the sake of it if the new Egyptian woman was to rise beyond her woes: She was rooted in her quest for growth and freedom. She saw her education and her travels abroad as something that was central to her growth:
“Conquest of my soul,
frenzied flight
toward heaven
to steal
a little
fire
with which to revive myself
and our land that is dying.”
Sabrina Mahfouz is a more contemporary Egyptian woman poet, having been born in 1984. She was raised in between London and Cairo. Her most famous works are a poetry book, How You Might Know Me of 2016. She is very direct, quick and radical. Her poem, “In the Revolutionary Smoking Room” is spontaneous and breaks from traditional Egyptian women poetry traditions:
“Open the window. Isn’t it –
despicable deplorable disgraceful suspicious untenable untouchable delightful delicious unbelievable unstoppable grateful curious
tweetable filmable this is fucking serious
debatable inflatable never ever tedious
remarkable reliable spiteful pretentious
responsible blameable beautiful ferocious
– Yes. Can I have another cigarette please?”
But in her new book of 2020, For Women Trying to Breathe and Failing, Batsirai Chigama of Zimbabwe has, for me, one very special section called “How Love Should Be”. In that section, Chigama chooses to protest against men’s abuse of women by actually giving us the alternative man. This is a rare feat! Here is a man that the women would prefer…
In school we used to call that the control experiment!
When a male reader goes through that section, he may definitely come face-to-face with what he could have been when the world was fresh and the hills were still soft.
It is like coming home in the middle of a rainy night to find your better version sleeping in your very bed! When that happens, and you are able to control your nerves, you may see what you could have been and not the brute that you have become. We tend to come into the world too late or too early to be sane.
In one of those poems by Chigama, a woman gazes at a man and thinks, “of all the places (that) I could live, your heart is the paradise I choose.” In another, a woman refers to her man as “a best seller to me” and more specifically, “babe I would carry you around in the duffel bag of my heart, flip through you, slowly grasp(ing) every single word profound…”
Then she describes an imaginary good, lovely and well behaved man with:
“There are some rooms in your palms
Where I feel I belong
Quiet
Calm
Steady
Warm
Full of you.”
These are the kind of men’s palms that women look for everywhere without finding. Those palms with rooms! But that is only the beginning because in yet another poem, the title poem to this section itself, the poet writes about her man’s “gentle softness” and her man’s “dewy kindness that drips each time you look at me and hold me strong in the embrace of each syllable.”
And the man is so good that the woman even admits her own faults, “I am a mess I know, yet the way each vowel curves in your iris is the magnet that centres my universe.” And that electric section of poems continues unabated.
In another piece, a joyful woman reads a book of poems by the window as her caring man wears the apron to prepare a toast for her, roasting a chicken drumstick for her and the sad part is that the man does this only on Sundays. If he could do it more regularly, the better!
Here you find a man who knows how to spell love even in his sleep. There is also talk about “a man who smiled with his eyes,” causing a woman bloom like a flower in season. That is not even enough because in yet another poem, “ a woman meets her former lover (so that she is able) to touch the wrinkles on his body and realises that she still loves him even more than before and that it was really “stupid (that they had) let each other go the way we did.”
Then there is a section called “For Women Who Forget To Breathe While Alive”, which has poems about how women’s woes affect their private and bodily lives. There are also sections about women failing to survive and another more reassuring section about “women finding their feet.”
There is also a section that carries “the random thoughts of a woman sojourner.” Maybe these are about the poet’s feelings at all the different spaces she has visited (at home and abroad.)
Still in Zimbabwean women’s poetry, when you move to Samantha Rumbidzai Vazhure’s, in her latest book of poems of 2022, Starfish Blossoms, you find that this collection is decidedly based on the firm foundations of the wisdom of one’s female ancestors, both in mythical and real time. This book can be read as an archive of women’s thoughts and sweet secrets from one generation to the other.
In these pieces, there is the hovering presence of the persona’s paternal grandmother, VaChivi. She is the spirit of the lioness, hunting relentlessly for game in order to feed her pack of cubs. VaChivi is more vicious and runs much faster than her lazy and redundant male counterpart. Hunting is not sport. It is a matter of life and death.
There is also the maternal grandmother, aChihera, the woman of the Shava Eland totem. Charwe Nehanda of the first Chimurenga is among the strong Chihera women of Zimbabwe. They are renowned in Shona lore for their resilience and sometimes they are known to be strong-headed, fighting harder than their fathers or their husbands!
These two archetypes VaChivi and aChihera demonstrate that this poet is coming to the world stage already armed with ready-made stories of the brave women from her own community. She is not looking for new heroes. She already has the blood of heroines running through her veins. She is only looking for a broader audience. For me this is Samantha Rumbidzai Vazhure’s greatest achievement.
In the very first poem the persona recalls her time with her grandmother out in the countryside. It is a return to the stable source and to roots that go deep.
Grandmother hides her monies everywhere; inside her crimpling doek, under the reed mat and even inside her g-cup bra. Meanwhile the corn is roasting by the fireside. When she asks her granddaughter to count her money, the younger woman says, “but you can’t see the money even if I were to count it for you!”
And the elder answers: “These eyes can see what they want to see.” Meaning I would not have asked you to count the money if you were not a trusted fellow. This poem is a story about the easy camaraderie between women from across generations.
In the poem “Hanyanani”, the poet goes even deeper into the Shona mythology. An old woman lives in the drought-smitten district of Chivi in a year when the famine is at its bitterest. There is danger that the many-many orphans that she keeps in her homestead may actually starve to death. VaChivi goes up and down among her neighbours and she finds no food to cook. But the orphans gather around her crying louder and louder…
VaChivi comes up with a plan which has become legendary among the Shona people. She lights a fire as if everything is alright and puts a pot full of water on the fire. There is still nothing to cook and VaChivi picks pebbles from the bare ground and throws them into the pot and she tells her grandchildren that she is now cooking something and she will make soup out of it. She dishes out the ‘soup’ eventually. It is the mere hope among these children that the hot water that they are taking in is real soup. That saves their lives;
“And there’s an old woman from Chivi
who cooked stones and drank the soup.
She did not swallow the stones.
Did she not know that those
who swallow stones do not die?”
The Chivi woman’s story is about intense hope and resolve. In the same area there is a contemporary tale about Hanyanani, a ghost that goes ahead with its ghostliness without thinking about what people say about her as a ghost. Sometimes Hanyanani terrorises wayfarers who walk the paths in the middle of the night from beer drinking binges.
The daring drunkards even think Hanyanani is a fresh new prostitute from more urbane places like Masvingo, Harare and Bulawayo and on being taken to her home, the men fall into deep sleep.
When they wake up they find that they are actually resting in the graveyard! In a more contemporary period, Hanyanani is often reincarnated as Peggy, the other terror ghost of the other Zimbabwean towns of Chiredzi and Triangle.
These are stories about woman triumphalism retold in poetic form. Vazhure does not exactly rewrite these myths but her allusions to them through her poetry are powerful and strategic. Vazhure uses local materials to talk about global issues.
Indeed, over the years, African women poets in different countries, have developed varied methods of telling their evolving stories through poetry.
Memory Chirere

Sesotho se re, u ka isa pere nokeng ho’a noa metsi. Ha feela e sa batle ho noa, ha ho seo u ka se etsang. The translation is; life is all about choices and we are all products of the choices we make.
I realise that this month marks exactly one year since the formation of the Revolution for Prosperity (RFP) party. The news of the formation of the RFP brought a ray of sunshine. A ray of hope!
I tell you, around this time last year, it was evident that Mathibeli Mokhothu would be the next Prime Minister but the RFP rescued us from a potential catastrophe of epic proportions. Ebe re ka be re le kae? Ke sure re ka be ntse re loana.
However, now that the RFP is firmly in power, that ray is unfortunately starting to fade away. Well, let me speak for myself. The euphoria is slowly starting to evaporate now that I see that the RFP has overpromised and is starting to under-deliver. It wasn’t ready to govern.
You see the problems started when the RFP failed to give an account on progress made in the first 100 days in office. Some people claim that it is actually 100 working days. So that excludes holidays and days that fall over the weekend. Friday is a half-day of course.
But why can’t the Minister of Communications say something on the promises made on first 100 days? Is it over? Is it in April? By the way, is Minister Mochoboroane the new Government spokesperson? When will the PM give an account on the first 100 days? We need a report.
Now what bored me the most was the recent budget speech. The message was just loud and clear. It clearly says this new administration undermines public servants.
I wish the government knew the level of debt that our public servants are currently swimming in. They are swimming in a pool of mud. They owe almost all machonisas in town because their salaries just cannot sustain their families. Hence the high rate of corruption. People need to survive. Le nna nka utsoa Diesel ea mosebetsing. Le parts tsa literekere. Ho ja ke ne ke le mohlanka. If only!
If the RFP administration is adamant to maintain the status quo on ignoring the wellbeing of public servants, then it must just forget about service delivery. We’ll re-open this conversation after the 2027 elections.
But the thing that got me concerned was to see blunders our ministers made at the recently held conference/summit on Least Developed Countries in Qatar (‘Moka oa Naha tse itlhotseng).
Haai! The questions asked in that summit were quite difficult and one of our ministers was dribbled by one simple yet difficult question. The question said something like; what you need to do to, in order to catapult your country out of the ‘least developed’ status.
This was a very difficult question. It’s like asking an alcoholic an unfair question and say, “what do you need to do to quit alcohol”. Or a question a poor person, “what do you need to do to become to rich.” Obviously these are questions that need deep introspection for one to deal with demons they could be avoiding.
Yes, of course, this was a difficult question to answer for our ministers. “What do you need to do to pull yourself out of poverty?” As I was watching this on Lesotho Television, my answer was, “Knowing Basotho, absolutely nothing.”
Why do I say this? When we were growing up in Mazenod Airport City, there was a gifted artist called Anikie. Well, that was a nickname he used for cartoons he drew for Moeletsi oa Basotho. Ka motseng a tsejoa ka lebitso la Taliban.
He was way older than us, e se e le abuti, and he was blessed with a very rare form of talent. I tell you, he could just sit and start drawing and the end result would be a masterpiece. That man was blessed.
But unfortunately, Anikie had a terrible habit that he had to feed and this habit just pulled him back. He was an alcoholic and drank until he looked like an old man. By the way, did you see the new President of Nigeria?
So, there were so many people that tried to intervene to save that precious talent. I remember that even Major General Lekhanya sourced a scholarship for Anikie to study fine-arts in Germany.
No, Anikie was not interested in that sh*t. He just wanted to stay in Mazenod, paint a piece, sell it, buy alcohol and drink until he couldn’t pronounce his name. Start a new piece, sell it, drink until he forgot what the day of the week was. This was a vicious cycle that just sank him. Anikie was addicted to his bad habits. No one could rescue him. Absolutely no one.
I remember buying his last two art-pieces, before he departed, at an exhibition held at Morija Arts and Cultural Festival about 22 years ago. No, that man was finished. The alcohol had turned him into an old man and he was probably 40-years-old then. But he looked like a 70-year-old man. No one could save that man from his bad habits.
He subsequently died after the art exhibition and I’ve kept those two art pieces for sentimental value. Well, I donated one to my sister but I’m thinking of repatriating it. But the story of Anikie is exactly the same as the story of a country Lesotho. Blessed with abundance but held back by its bad habits.
By the way, Anikie had a super talented younger brother named ‘Chipa’ but this ‘Chipa’ was a marathon runner. Why the name Chipa for a runner still remains a mystery up to this day.
So Chipa was a long distance marathon runner. That guy could run for kilometres on end and won various marathons in South Africa.
Yet again, Chipa had a terrible habit to feed. He would practise for a marathon. Win it. Drink the prize money. Be absolutely broke. Practise for the next marathon. Win it. Drink the prize-money.
Be absolutely broke. Practise for the next marathon. That was the cycle.
Chipa was such an alcoholic that he missed his son’s funeral because he was busy drinking at one of the shacks near Basotho Canners. How sad is that?
Yes, like his brother Anikie, Chipa departed this world a broke and broken man. No one could help him. I felt sad when Chipa died because he was someone I related well with and was always pleased to see me.
So, this is a quagmire that Lesotho finds itself in. Lesotho is just addicted to its bad habits and no one can save it. I’m telling you, the Americans can pour all the money from American tax-payers into Lesotho’s economy. But if the will to change is not there, no one can change Lesotho.
The Chinese government can donate all sorts of landmark buildings. However, if the will to change is not there, nothing can change Lesotho.
The EU has poured millions towards reforms but there is simply no will from Basotho to leave their bad habits. Lesotho is a country that is not prepared to reform because it is addicted to its bad habits.
How is it possible for a country to be inside a belly of a country that budgets R2 trillion and only budget one percent of that? One percent of R2 trillion? Ha ke tsebe hore na ke bolehe hona kapa bo…..(feel free to complete the sentence).
Do you want to tell me that Lesotho can’t at the very least target to budget 10% of what South Africa budgets? Okay, let me say, five percent of which would translate to R100 million. Re je mafoforetsane a South Africa. We don’t need to start anything afresh. Just pick and choose from what works and run with it.
But no, there’s no will to change from the bad habits. Lesotho will never change unless its people sincerely change.
‘Mako Bohloa
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