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Welcome to Iveco



MUCKRAKER is neither a squeaky wheel nor a nit-picker.
That is why she will not clamber on the bandwagon of those screaming about the Mobile Traffic Court (Iveco), the new bulldog on our roads.
As recent as two weeks ago she gladly paid a fine after the magistrate, perched at the back of that kombi, said you are “guilty ‘Mme”.

She sounded serious like Judge Judy. Muckraker liked her short hair and make-up. It takes some doing to look so fresh after hours of being baked in that jalopy and dealing with kombi drivers. The cashier on the driver’s seat was a disappointment because he didn’t even feign a smile.

We can blame that on the surliness that comes with the pain of receiving money you know is not yours. Maybe he was just tired of counting the government’s money and writing receipts. He must however remember that traffic offenders are not criminals but customers to the government. That is how Iveco was designed.

It’s a fundraising project on steroids. The government must now buy those Iveco people some shiny uniforms and teach them principles of customer care. A workshop to teach them to say “welcome on board Iveco, please enjoy the ride” will be fine.
In reality, Iveco is a business whose mandate is to generate profit for the state.

Its competitors are the police who have been loading their pockets with bribes for years. Its currency is traffic offences and the customers are drivers. We must however not moan too much about Iveco because it is a passing fade. Sooner rather than later someone among those busybodies harassing and emptying our pockets will ask what is in it for them.

There is bound to be someone who will demand a risk allowance or per diem. One day Iveco will have a flat tyre and will never move again. Remember it’s not so different from other parastatals and departments that have gone kaput. Muckraker will however be inconsolable if that happens. Iveco is needed in this jungle we call roads.

In principle, there is nothing wrong with Iveco. It decongests our courts and stops the corrupt boys in blue from fleecing motorists. Now those Leposa constables have lost the power to dip their calloused paws into our already perforated pockets.

What is wrong with Iveco is that it still behaves like the government: slow and cumbersome. It takes them hours to hear cases because they always take more than they can chew.
It’s like the government that takes on too many projects without the money or capacity to finish them on schedule. You wait on those long and meandering queues for your turn before the magistrate until your legs are numb.

They don’t even offer toilets. Imagine the arrogance of charging you and denying you a toilet. It is common cause that some people are scared of meeting a magistrate and might want to relieve themselves before they are asked how they plead. One day someone will just deposit their manure in front of the magistrate. The fines are also so heavy that after you pay all you want is to just visit a toilet.

You feel your tummy roiling as the magistrate says “M500” as if she is announcing a membership fee to a stokvel. Iveco officials should know that getting caught for a traffic offence is not a job. Traffic offenders don’t work at Iveco.

They have other business to do. All they want is to pay the fines and get on with their errands. Yet Iveco wants to keep offenders roasting in the sun as if they are some pork slices frying at a Twisters Braai. The lesson here is that a Lesotho court remains slow even if you put it on wheels and add some fuel to it.

The second problem is this silly habit of demanding spot fines as if drivers budget to commit traffic offences. Muckraker suspects this might be illegal and all it needs is one ambulance-chasing lawyer to kill it off. Watch the space.

Nka! Ichuuuuuuuuuuu!

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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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