“WE are living in a beautiful country and the ANC is a very good government. Look around you. Here we are, sitting in the sunshine of this glorious winter’s day, having a beer and a relaxed conversation with friends. How could anyone complain?”
Thus spoke Big Ben.
He was met with silence as the Confederacy of Conversationalists being convivial in my back garden pondered his words sippingly and curiously.
“I agree,” ventured Stevie the Poet, “this day is an early winter’s gift. But I must dispute your logic that we have the ANC to thank for it. In my unscientific opinion, the weather is one of the very few things the ANC cannot break.”
“There you go again,” sulked Big Ben. “We’ve got roads, services, full shopping shelves, glasses in our hands, but you complain about the ANC.”
“Oi! Boyo,” laughed Colin the Golfer, “pull the other one. Your glorious movement is not providing any of those things. On the contrary, eh? The reason you don’t have sewage running into potholes outside the front door is because your lot are NOT running the show here.”
The Prof followed another route. “But of course my dear boy,” consoled he, “you are perfectly entitled to your views, even if they are, forgive me, not closely related to the wider world around us.”
“Well …” considered Big Ben, but then argued forth anyway, “the DA is a joke, you know, always fighting each other and losing voters in every by-election.”
“No joke and not woke,” corrected Jon the Joker. “The DA are back from the by-ways and dirt roads where they got lost when the likes of Aloysius Maimane and Minister-Without-Borders de Lille were at the wheel – back on the liberal freeway where they belong.”
“Well, they better show it,” advised Bob the Book, “some on social media are still laughing and media like Daily Maverick display a snide disdain.”
“Useless!” opined Jon the Joker. “Instead of the rantings on social media, look at the facts staring you in the face; just pull your mask a little lower down, to below your eyes. These facts: Adjudicated best-run province, Western Cape, governed by the DA. Best-run major city, Cape Town, governed by the DA. Top five municipalities, all run by the DA.
“And you want to play silly buggers with woke jokes and delusions of humour. There will be provincial elections on October 27. If the DA should lose locally, our great little town will turn into Koster-by-the-sea.”
“Koster?” worried Big Ben, “isn’t that a big knob in the church?”
“The Koster Jon is talking about,” helped Luke the Dude with a well-acted straight face, “is a town to the west of the Hartbeespoort Dam. It is a town like any other run by the ANC. Nothing works and all the money is missing.
“They are in the news because the townspeople made a plan when the municipality totally screwed the local right to clean water. Townspeople went to court and gained the management of the water system, which they took over despite some rebellion from the cadres who prefer Being The Boss to having water. Within days the necessary work had been done and voila! Clear drinking water was flowing from the taps.”
“But it didn’t end there, did it?” asked Irene the Queen.
“Alas nope,” continued Luke, “you never know what will happen in our courts. Another, acting, judge ordered that control be returned to the municipality, with the predictable results. Back to smelly and filthy square one. And a thirsty time was had by all. Except for the acting judge.”
“Useless!” scorned Jon the Joker. “Be careful what you wish for.”
“Agreed,” nodded Miss Lily. “This is not the time to be facetious. But at least that Ace Magashule, our own Cassius with the mean and hungry look, used his sword to dig himself into a hole! Last time I noticed, he was still digging.”
“That one. Up to no good,” frowned Jean-Jay, who has joined the cozy company from his toils on the soil. “Made a lot of merde in the Free State, then he made a mess in Luthuli House. He even gave that one, ‘Doctor’ Carl Niehaus, his job back!”
“And look where he is now,” mused The Bearded Biker, “Still on full pay, though, while ANC staff who are actually at work – I didn’t say working! – have to hope and pray from month to month.”
The Big White Dog stretched luxuriously and looked for all the world as if she was smiling at Miss Lily.
“It’s an interesting fracas between ANC factions,” observed The Prof from behind his pipe, “no doubt lifestyle-determining to the trough-feeding cadres on either side. But unless the result is a significant ANC split – and I don’t see that happening – it won’t make much of a difference to the rest of us.”
“What do you mean!” disagreed Big Ben. “President Ramaphosa is a much better leader than Ace and his rebellious schemes. If Ace gets his way, all the good work will be undone!”
“Well,” added Irene the Queen, “with Ace out of the way, Cyril won’t have to look over his shoulder all the time. He can get on with the job we all expected him to do when he became president.”
“The Ramaphoria,” groaned Jon the Joker. “Useless!”
“I don’t agree,” said The Prof. “Look at South Africa beyond the borders of our province. That’s the country where Cyril’s ANC governs without the interference of DA competence. When he was deputy to Zuma and still as president. He won’t change. Not now, not ever.”
“Listen to this!” sparkled Miss Lily at the gloomy faces. “They’ve started training dogs in England to identify people with Covid even before they start feeling sick; also those who never get symptoms but can infect others. The secret is a very faint, unique smell the dogs can detect. That’s a turn-up for the books in the second year of the pandemic, isn’t it!”
We all agreed and a jolly Cheers! was raised to the Big White Dog.
Now don’t tell me you never get good news in the media.
