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The joke about soldiers



A Zebra saw a Giraffe running in the veld.
“What are you running away from,” Zebra asks.
“Ah, the Lesotho police are arresting baboons down there,” says the Giraffe as he gallops.
“But you are not a baboon, so why are you running away,” says the puzzled Zebra.

“Heela, this is Lesotho. It might take me five months to prove to the police that I am not a Giraffe and another two months to get bail.”
Zebra rolls with laughter and says: “You can just tell them you are the Feselady and you get bail instantly.”

Giraffe stops running and curses: “Heela, I can pretend to be anything but not that woman. I would rather rot in jail”.
Of course Giraffe was within his rights to run away and refuse to pretend to be the Feselady.
But perhaps Zebra could have told Giraffe to pretend to be a South African soldier.

After all, the Lesotho police and their government would rush to South Africa to announce that its soldiers have been arrested. A few days later Lesotho would release the soldiers who were instantly airlifted back home.
You get the picture.
Now, here is where it gets complicated.

While Lesotho was scrambling around to release South African soldiers at the combined speed of five dogs, Ramaphosa’s government had been holding on to our two soldiers.
Those two soldiers have been languishing in prison for two months.
Meanwhile, it took us a few days to release their own soldiers.
Hold it right there because it’s about to get bizarre.

As soon as Lesotho arrested the South African soldiers, Deputy Prime Minister Mathibeli Mokhothu was instructed by the Prime Minister to sprint across the Mohokare River. We were suddenly told that he was going to negotiate with Ramaphosa for the release of the soldiers.
It was a little bit late but it made perfect sense because we were holding two of their own and they had two of our own. It was a straight forward exchange. Get your rascals and I get mine.

But apparently things don’t work that way in this skewed relationship.
Mokhothu came back home, the South African soldiers were instantly released and whiskered away.
Yet our soldiers are still being held captive in South Africa.
Muckraker suspects this is what happened.

Mokhothu walked into the meeting with Ramaphosa.
Ramaphosa asked Mokhothu why he was visiting in these Covid-19 times.
“My boss, I am here because your two soldiers have strayed into my country,” says Mokhothu as he bowed before Ramaphosa.

“So why did you not bring my soldiers with you? I thought you were coming to apologise for your country attracting my soldiers. He batho!” Ramaphosa thunders.

“Boss, as I speak to you those soldiers are being released. But I am also here to tell you that you seem to have my two soldiers in your prison.”
“So?” Ramaphosa quips.
“Well, I was kind of wondering or hoping or praying or begging that you find in your very good heart to release them,” said Mokhothu.

Ramaphosa dismisses Mokhothu after telling him South Africa is still verifying if those two are indeed Lesotho soldiers. The verification continues. Lesotho waits. The soldiers languish in jail. Their families are worried. Basotho are pissed.

The government looks amateurish.
The joke is on us as a country. We are being shown that we don’t matter in the broader scheme of things.

In the meantime, our silly celebrations about the arrest of South African soldiers have been muted.
South Africa has won and we have lost.

All Ramaphosa had to do was to wink and our government jumped like a cat on a red-hot surface.
Tame your anger because you know nothing about the craft of geopolitics. Shhhhhhh, just zip it!

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Machonisa on fire



It was only a matter of time before the so-called socialist party owned by a machonisa started unravelling. Now the capitalist owner of the Socialist Revolutionaries is lashing out at anyone who dares to tell him to behave himself.

Teboho Mojapela is moving around his party’s structures with a phafa, leaving his victims scratching their bums.

Muckraker has no sympathy for his victims. They deserve what they are getting.

Having deluded themselves to think that they are stockholders in the SR, they should now enjoy their harvest of thorns. They were guests at Mojapela’s house but tried to tell him how to arrange his furniture and what to eat.

He is telling them to go find somewhere to play because the SR is his personal property.

That the SR is in Mojapela’s armpits has always been clear. He formed and funded it.

It’s just that some were too naïve to realise the obvious.

Thabo Shao packed his bags and left after Mojapela whipped him out of his house. He now mumbles something about Mr Machonisa being a dictator. He says that as if it’s a discovery to be shared with the rest of the world.

Yet anyone with something between their ears would have known that a machonisa who brags about beating his naughty workers could not possibly be a democratic leader.

Only Shao and a few dimwits didn’t know that.

Anyway, Shao’s exit will not change much because he just doesn’t matter. He is a political nonentity who overrates himself.

What interests Muckraker is Mr Machonisa’s nerve to call Shao an uneducated rascal. That hurts because it’s an insult coming from someone who has made it a mission to give education a bad name. Mr Machonisa’s definition of someone educated is Tlohelang Aumane. Hear, hear, and hear. Phew!

Does anyone remember Aumane saying anything either educated or educative?

Muckraker only knows him as a political jezebel incapable of staying in one political bed for more than 15 minutes. He is always itching to be married to the next political party.

Muckraker is tempted to say Aumane is politically horny but she won’t say it for fear of offending the oversensitive souls. The kind that claims to have almost suffocated to death after someone farted in a hall.

But Mr Machonisa doesn’t care about Aumane’s habits because he thinks he is renting a brilliant political mind. A few things will happen in that union.

Mr Machonisa will soon realise that Aumane is just an empty-headed political slay queen always looking for the next partner to get him Ice Tropez (May lightning strike whoever drinks that but cannot afford it. Fire!)

Aumane will realise that Mr Machonisa is a moneyed but unrefined village bumpkin whose mouth has a terrible habit of rebelling against his brain.

Mr Machonisa will find the next brain to rent while Aumane will be putting on his stilettos to find another political lover to smooch on the Maseru streets.

Nka! Ichuuuuuuuuuuu!

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The queen Mampara



Muckraker once promised to say nothing about the Feselady but that Mampara’s mouth keeps running as if it’s connected to Muela Hydro Power Station.

The Feselady told some ABC members who visited her home that she will not associate with the party until it distances itself from the remark of suspended spokesman Montoeli Masoetsa. What made her relapse to her Drama Queen ways was Masoetsa’s attack on her and her hubby. He said the ABC lost because of Uncle Tom and Feselady.

That simple truth, known to even donkeys in Qaqatu, pierced her cheeky heart and got her tummy roiling. She now says she will never wear the ABC’s regalia until the party apologises. Don’t laugh. If this was a threat, the Feselady has lost her touch.

She used to beat people for merely looking at her in a funny way or calling her hubby.

She would harass government officials in public. Now she has been reduced to threatening to avoid yellow dresses and T-shirts to fix the ABC. Boom! Boom! The mighty Drama Queen has fallen.

What remains is just the fading memories of power sexually transmitted.

The transmitter of that power has long ceased to function literally and figuratively.

But the Feselady is too engrossed with herself to realise that she has neither the power nor the capacity to make threats to anyone. She rules only her home, yard and a few idiots still clinging to her.

It takes some sophistication to read irony and the Feselady doesn’t have even a pinch of it. Her people in Mokhotlong rejected her when she tried to sneak into parliament via that hollow popularity garnered through matrimony.

ABC supporters think she is just an uncultured blabbermouth. That she thinks anyone would lose sleep over her threats to burn the party’s regalia or turn them into fatukus is comical. Her tantrums will not change a thing. Her boycott might be the best thing to happen to the party since the October 7 defeat.

Why would the few remaining ABC supporters worry about a garrulous charlatan boycotting their party?

The last time she was wearing the ABC like a wig, it lost more than 200 000 voters, flew to the opposition benches and became a smallanyana party. Nothing hurts more than that. So bring it on mummy!

Nka! Ichuuuuuuuuuuu!

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The RFP’s thokolosi



The RFP leaders should fire whoever is advising them on how to deal with constituencies demanding a conference to elect a new executive committee. Their response to those demands has been a comedy of errors.
It’s been nothing short of kindergarten blunders unbefitting of people who sold themselves as the smart ones to lead the country out of darkness.
The secretary general told those bellowing for a conference to take a chill pill and wait for Uncle Sammy to give directions.
Uncle Sammy said those people or their kind are divisive, dragging the party off its agenda and incapable of understanding his dream for the country.
Other leaders have said those clamouring for a conference can go plead their case to a mountain because the current national executive committee will run the party for another six pregnancies.
Never mind the words they use, the leaders are telling the members that they will not be told how to manage a party they started. This is to say the leaders will not be taking instructions from the riffraff. Yes, I said it! Those rubbed the wrong way can curse.
Someone should round up the RFP’s executive committee members, lock them up in a room, throw away the keys and spank them until they understand politics.
They are clearly struggling to make a distinction between a political party and private companies. You would think this is common sense but the human mind is always slow to banish habits.
The RFP leaders were used to being business owners, not political leaders. That is why they cannot understand why anyone who wasn’t there when they started the party can tell them how to manage it.
But make no mistake, reality will grab them by the noses and eyelids back to their senses. They will be taught three simple lessons. The first is that political parties are voluntary entities in which power lies with the members.
The second is that party members are not employees you can just instruct to jump around because you pay their wages.
The third, which is more important, is that the only time a political party is a personal property is when it’s an idea in the founder’s head. Once registered and people join, the members own the party together with its structures, leaders and vision.
The other problem with the RFP’s responses to the demands for an elective conference is that they keep pretending that those three constituencies are just rogues out to sabotage the party. Nothing can be further from the truth.
Those constituencies are small thokolosis of someone right there in the party’s echelons. They represent a growing faction in the party. That faction that is a thokolosi was birthed when the party was still a spirit. It was nurtured when the party was registered and continued to grow during the campaign.
By the time the RFP became government, it was a full-blown thokolosi vigorously doing bedroom things to produce more thokolosis. Now it is granddaddy thokolosi living in the RFP’s armpits.
There is a simple way to find the thokolosi’s owner.
Just round them up and beat them until their parents start wailing. If the parents don’t come out the thokolosis will run to them for protection.

Nka! Ichuuuuuuuuuuu!

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