Your number’s up, Jacob

Had the old farm telephone system still been operative, whereby all users eavesdrop on spicy exchanges, the cables would melt in today's world. Remember the popular soapy, Nommer, asseblief? Every farmer, especially the wives, knew everything about anyone at any given time. The signature jingle befitting an old-fashioned telephone fills my brain as I doze off in my lounger... "Heh-heh, Nkosatjie is that you?"

"Of course, Jacob, who else. Tee-hee." "Did you see old Cyril sweat it on the box? And late - again. Remember how

I was accused arriving late. At least I always had something constructive to say."

"Jacob-Jacob, don't you catch on? He had nothing constructive to say because I said so. I wrote the script."

"Do I hear you right, you old devil? The things the nation wanted to hear about, like booze and cigarettes, you skipped?"

"Now you're cooking, my dear ex. You should know the drill by now - in fact, you taught Ace and me well. Confuse the fools out there with rhetoric and red herrings, and deliberately ignore their wants."

"OK, I hear you. But don't forget I've other irritants on my mind. They're like mosquitoes. For one thing, staying out of the clink. I'm tired of ducking and diving, and not getting any younger."

"It's your own fault, Jacob. You chose the wrong pals. I mean, why the Guptas? They've a different culture for starters. And they chew betel nuts, instead of smoking. Weirdos, man. Plus they're known pickpockets. You've never been money sharp, always going after the big one. But to link up with Shabir and his buddies was, to say the least, isimungulu."

"Hang on awhile, Nkosatjie, you're not so elikhanyayo either. Tell me about your fraternising with tobacco people. And, you who hate smoking. Photos of you socialising with them look very intimate and cosy."

"Still jealous, are you? Tee-hee. It's purely platonic. They spoil me rotten. It means a lot to have younger men seek my companionship."

"Oh, now I get it. By banning cigarettes, it allows these youngsters into the back door. A masterful stroke, my dear. Heh. Heh."

"Stop it, Jacob, I'm blushing. But you were always good at making the girls feel good. That's why I couldn't believe one of your wives tried poisoning you? You must've done something bad."

"Check out my Zoom, and you'll get the blue-pencilled version. Now thinking about it, why don't you write the script? You're evidently very good at it, if Cyril's appearances are anything to go by."

"Sorry, too busy with diverting the party's failures by milking corona."

I awake with my phone ringing. Hope it's not Naa-kaaan-dlaa. Heh-heh.