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The past week has been nothing but hectic to yours truly and his throat.
First, Son of Maskopas, that former drunkard who is now an enemy of progress, was hosting a housewarming party at his newly renovated shack. Now that son, Makipkip, like his father before him, Maskopas, is not the brightest of chaps in the whole of Mashishing. In fact that whole family is known to have forfeited the receipt of logic when God was dishing it out.
Armed with a case of the finest SAB has to offer and my Asphuzeni disciples, I graced Maskopas’ compound and brought life to that lousy excuse of a gathering. With the party now alive, Son of Mokone – who had a two-year overdue overdraft at Konkodi’s tavern and that was why he had been avoiding our gatherings there – said he read in the woke media that apparently ministers are now starting to reacquaint themselves with ordinary folk etiquette and are even learning how to greet people these days in anticipation of when the new number one, Son of Ramaposer, makes that “thank you but bye” call soon.
Obviously I would like the first call to go to Bathabile Dlamini, not because she flatly denied to offer Asphuzeni and like-minded organisations beer grants when her then boss, the Jacob of Nkandla, was stressing us out with his laughter and dance moves, but for almost ensuring the grants were not paid last year and presiding over the CPS contract extension.
Son of Mokone also said he had read in the Sunday newspaper that court papers relating to the wedding-cum-farm in Vrede implicate the secretary-general of Luthuli House and his bestie.
Obviously with the beer seemingly gone to Mokone’s head, Son of Mongale – the Willow of Sofaya – took centre stage and said he heard through the wireless of that ugly four-wheeled wheelbarrow he calls a car, that apparently Son of Malema, the Sello of Masakaneng responded to Jacob of Nkandla on behalf of the nation after the latter asked what he did wrong – and didn’t hold back.
With the bottom of the brown bottles threatening to be visible, yours truly delivered the good news from the first state of the nation address: that Ramaposer promised to be there for the alcoholics. The whole nation heard him and he promised to take care of us and I don’t doubt he has the cash and connection to introduce what Bathabile could not ... that elusive beer grant. What a lovely electoral promise that was. Methinks he will deliver because then most of the MPs will also be catered for.
Yours truly also shared his unlimited wisdom with his faithfuls and directed their attention to an article by one captain of the woke media who daringly penned an ode to the former number one and wished him nothing good in his upcoming legal woes.
With the holy waters seemingly taking over more than its fair share of faculties, it was time to migrate to the wedding of one Son of Marule all the way in Praktiseer, where Tsibogo Son of Marule was surrendering his bachelorhood to a certain beautiful Daughter of Pheeha from the other side of that Limpopo province.
Now Tsibogo is one of those talented technicians who boasts the voice of a bass guitar. Being a son of pastors, his became the natural bass guitar during church services. With the formalities and “I dos” done and dusted, my Asphuzen faithfuls managed to procure more cases of SAB’s finest brown bottled brew and it was at that gathering that Son of Mohora, who is a long-lost member of our beloved stokvel, said he read (though we knew he is illiterate) in the local papers that the IDT is set to fire and hire, and the process is allegedly led by the acting boss over there who will obviously save her own skin.
According to Son of Mohora, the Koketso of Tubatse, Son of Gigaba of the Instagram fame is also set to deliver an unpopular budget that will upset those with money. Yours truly hopes that in that budget he remembers what Ramaposer said about us the downtrodden masses loyalists of SAB’s finest GDP supporter.
While at the very hot-like-hell township called Praktiseer (whatever that means), yours truly could not help but notice that those poor people are rich. There was no beerhole in sight that was not full and the parking lots resembled the best of Sandton. I have never met so many rich-poor people in my centuries of drinking the holy waters, except of course in Skomplaas my kasi.
• Majakathata the Rogue is a comrade, director of Nahab (National Association of Husbands and Boyfriends) and chairperson of Asphuzeni Stokvel in Skomplaas, Mashishing.
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