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 current administration
While Cyril Ramaphosa said he too could, you know, lead the whole nation
They lobbied behind closed doors, their intentions 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 deputy 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 politicians’ bane
Yes, we think they tippled, yes they must have got into the booze
Because how the hell else did they again manage 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.