An epic poem from the future
What will come to pass we look into the glass — in bad, bad rhyme
Oh it was grand, our year of 2017 In politics there were things we had never ever seen The ANC had been due to rule “until Jesus returns” And so voter sentiment had not been one of its concerns
Now the party found itself in deep, deep
trouble
Even if some of its leaders still lived in a bubble The party stalwarts again stepped to the fore But still their “interference” the top brass did
abhor
The veterans warned that the looting had to
stop
This was dismissed again as just so much
agitprop
So it was that the great battle was joined (For which resources that belong to the public
were incidentally purloined)
Out stepped one Dlamini-Zuma, for the cur
rent administration
While Cyril Ramaphosa said he too could, you
know, lead the whole nation
They lobbied behind closed doors, their inten
tions ill-declared
“You can’t look like you want it too much” they
were told, like anyone cared
So they danced around the issues, they spoke
in metaphor
Each not wanting to criticise the other, it
hardly approached a hot war Behind Dlamini-Zuma stood the government’s
propaganda apparatus
Poor Ramaphosa had to make do with his dep
uty presidential status
For Nkosazana there were awards, and
speeches domestic
Many an opportunity for her to look well and
truly majestic
Poor Cyril, still at his boss’s pleasure and behest Found that his schedule was suddenly very,
very stressed
Any event that would make him look
presidential
Would be cancelled in favour of matters
inconsequential
“We really need you to cut this shopping-mall
ribbon.”
“The press? We forgot to invite ’em!” he’d be
told in tones mock-stricken
So the one spent much time out in the public
eye
And got all the airtime that GCIS for her could
buy
The other was made to play the behind-the
scenes servant
Which did not go unnoticed by ANC members
observant
“One of them seems to be much in the public
spotlight,”
They would muse at their important next
plebiscite
“The other toils without cease though he’s rich
as a rogue.”
And this, they thought, is something that
should be much in vogue
So it was that the whole plan backfired Though not before public money was on it
squandered
How it all ended you of course remember Gosh, didn’t 2017 have just the most exciting
December?
Faulty Towers
There was an organisation with offices in
Auckland Park
For quite a long time it had been run by a
monarch
He sat on his throne and issued decrees He never said “thank you”, he never said
“please”
Eventually, in disgust, his bosses left or were
fired
So a new group to oversee it was greatly desired This hiring job was left up to the legislature Because never before at such work had it
known failure The House debated, the House contemplated The House looked at CVs, the House people
rated
This being politics though, they could not
refrain
And (we guess from the outcome), fell to politi
cians’ bane
Yes, we think they tippled, yes they must have
got into the booze
Because how the hell else did they again man
age to appoint a board full of yahoos?
Shorn Shaun
They called him a sheep, they laughed in his
face
But Shaun was not daunted, he stayed on the
case
He knew there is evil in this world, and some
had been done
At least some of it — he knew! — by that man
called Gordhan
He searched for it high, he searched for it low There was nothing he wouldn’t do, there ain’t
nowhere he didn’t go
He called all his friends and begged them for
evidence
He went to former colleagues and offered to
pay them severance
He dug through the trash, he studied the law Even though of vu there was oh so much déjà He looked in the corners, he turned over rocks He made all his people pull up their socks How can this be? Is there nothing to find? No! Don’t give up Shaun, don’t let them mess
with your mind!
He had a tough year, the man they called a
sheep
With all the work he missed way too much
beauty sleep
His eyebrows they wilted, his sparkle he lost It all came at a terrible mental cost
But then, just as he seemed to be losing his grip Along came a most fortuitously empty
ambassadorship!
Shaun now lives happy, Shaun’s life is great As is always the case when you pick the right
mate.
Family values
They had lots of money, the family in
Saxonwold
They’d made lots of deals, they’d mined lots of
gold
So good where they that they were universally
admired
Until against them everyone suddenly
conspired
The media, white capital, even the banks
All the nasty rats started gnawing at their
flanks
Of course they fought back, they did what they
could Against all barbs and arrows determined they
stood
And, behold! As if from nowhere there arose A group of defenders, emerging from the
shadows
They created new websites, they tweeted up a
storm
Saying “don’t believe all this nonsense, it’s just
racist form”
So many were there, all of a sudden
And still they continued to flood in
But the attacks would not cease, nor the
victimisation
With their lies the evil (other) capitalists
turned much of the nation
So the family said “screw this” and their assets
they sold
They even gave up their famous Johannesburg
stronghold
They took all their money, they got on their jets They left behind Africa, and all of its threats To greener pastures they went, in far-off Dubai Where no one their wealth, or how obtained,
would decry
South Africa, still trying to figure out how the
state had been captured
Said “come back, let’s talk”, but of this idea they
were not enamoured
What a great loss to the country it has been To have lost a family so hard-working, healthy
and clean.