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With the dust of insolvency well settled and the three-month long January finally out of side, yours truly opened this month of love with a memo to my members at Nahab (National Association of Husbands and Boyfriends) reminding them of our annual general meeting retreat to be held from the February 13 till February 15, as is tradition.
Because it is that time of the year where we take a break from spending for commercial love, I have ordered that each and every branch of Nahab across the country convene at the nearest drinking hole for the three-day retreat, obviously in Mpumalanga, I shall host my faithfuls at Skomplaas’s finest newest shebeen, Dobs and Skirts, and in the leafy suburbs, at the nearest beer gardens.
Obviously an order has also been issued to host pre-retreat drinks and post-retreat drinks and as per tradition, I hosted the pre-retreat session at my shack mansion, my double-storey zinc castle, my possie, my ngotshe.
With great mood escalating to dizzying heights, Son of Mongale (also known as the Willow of Sofaya) said he read in one of the woke newspapers that apparently our new president has modified the calendar as we knew it in light of the very long first month of the year.
He, the great Ramaposer, decided to get rid of February 14 and instead introduced 13.5th February and then February 15.
Obviously such a revolutionary move deserves a few extra drinks.
The Willow of Sofaya also said that Baba KaDuduzane’s days at the Union Buildings are numbered and apparently Jacob of Nkandla might end up only delivering the state of Nkandla and not of Msanzi.
Methinks its immaterial who sings.
What matters is who dances because the administration has never danced to that tune anyway.
Then out of the blue, Son of Mokou, the Rakgwatha of Sebora, said he heard over the wireless that blacks are landless and apparently that was news.
Now obviously because of his serial absconding habits of our drinking sessions, Son of Mokou’s non-news made him the laughing stock.
For announcing what was obvious, he was immediately fined four cases of SAB’s finest brown bottled brew.
After showing remorse for his ignorance Rakgwatha of Sebora, who is actually an economic refugee from the land of King Magandagele in our neighbouring Limpopo province, carefully whispered into my intoxicated ear that he had actually read that the race for finally appointing a youth league leader who is not 34.9 years old for the youth wing of the green, black and yellow party has started.
This time even orange squash juice brands have a preference for succession.
Methinks as far as thirst-quenchers are concerned, Oros can never be better than my brown bottled brew or even that urine-like tasting fermented grapes from the Cape! Oros does not even come a close five in that two horse race.
In the midst of the august occasion, Konkodi – who only attended because ever since that noisy Sister Bettinah moved in with him, he missed his peace and quiet – said the ANC’s Ace of Spades, whose office was recently paid an unwelcome visit from the Hawks and similar forces, was called to order for voicing his unsolicited opinion of the new number one.
Ace, according to Konkodi, was told by the non-working national working committee of his party to zip it.
Konkodi also said apparently Khabazela Mkhize, the former cashier at Sour Street, wants to sue the former head of Prasa, Lucky Montana for allegedly saying the former mighty party needed some cream off some tender.
While I was still pondering on the amount of cream, Bettinah entered my shack wielding a ngudu on one hand and a broom stick on the other, red-eyed and fuming and, within the blink of an eye, Konkodi dashed out like a man on fire with Bettinah hot on his heels wearing heels.
Apparently Konkodi had been exchanging lower body punches with Bettinah’s younger, slimmer sibling Selinah, and was now expecting a little Konkodi.
With Mokou, who is Konkodi’s neighbour, having explained the dilemma to us, Son of Segalwe, the grandfather from Zeerust, let it be known that apparently, according to woke media, our presidential handlers had allegedly founding a way to capture the purses of a clinic in his native North West province.
According to Son of Segalwe, who is a big fan of the Motaung English Institute of Naturena, former buccaneer marksmen, Son of Ndoro – who now plies his trade for a certain water-starved team in the southern tip of our country – may be in hot water.
With all efforts attempted, the sight of Konkodi’s midget self jumping chairs and cases half his height escaping Bettinah made the beer a bit sour.
As president of Nahab I obviously declared that the retreat be extended.
We needed to take a break from our beloved potential killers, especial mid-month when our only refuge seemed to be the barley and brew.
• Majakathata the Rogue is a comrade, director of Nahab (National Association of Husbands and Boyfriends) and chairperson of Asphuzeni Stokvel in Skomplaas, Mashishini.
