The phrase ”Don’t kick a man when he’s down” has always seemed a little pointless to Lemmer. Kicking a man when he’s down is just about the only practical time to kick him once you get Oom Krisjan’s side of 40. Unless you’re some sort of latter-day Bruce Lee and can let out blood-curdling cries while flying through the air without splitting your pants or giving yourself a hernia, that is. And kicking a standing man in the shins is really not very butch.
So Lemmer can quite understand the government’s decision to add to the Prince-sometimes-still-known-as-Gatsha’s woes while it can.
First the Inkatha leader got kicked out of the Ministry of Home Affairs without having the chance to remove ”Gatsha” from his name; then two deputy minister posts that were earmarked for members of his party were given to others; and now — the final insult — the man who once ruled piesangland has lost his parliamentary kraal in the Good Hope building.
It has long been a sore point with the ruling party (10 years, in fact) that Inkatha has been housed in this prime visdorpie site, which is rumoured to have had a former Masonic lodge next door and linked through some back corridors to the president’s offices at Parliament. The Good Hope Building comes with a braai and entertainment area, nogal!
Now the Prince and his underlings have to share the Marks Building with all other opposition parties — and run the gauntlet of being locked in after hours as the police guards retreat. Oom Krisjan hears the ever-expanding presidency is claiming the Good Hope Building for itself — braai, bar and all.
Who gives a fig?
Thinking about General Colon and the origins of names brought the manne to the Financial Intelligence Centre Act (Fica), the nasty little piece of legislation that is forcing bank clients to go present themselves in person at their banks to prove their identities and places of residence — under threat of having their accounts frozen.
In Italian fico is a fig. The feminine form of the word, fica, denotes a fig-shaped part of a woman, and is considered a dirty word.
Toenadering
The Minister for Environmental Affairs and Tourism and licking the prez’s boots, Marthinus van Schalkwyk, is a self-styled leader in matters of cooperation. Now he has the chance to put this into practice.
Kortbroek, a few as old as Lemmer might remember, once headed Jeugkrag, a not-quite Hitler Youth-type organisation funded by Military Intelligence. In a pairing that Lemmer is sure not even the prez was devious enough to devise, Kortbroek’s director general is Chippy Oliver, a man who spent his youth deeply involved in the End Conscription Campaign.
Dead on arrival
A while ago Lemmer mentioned how several airlines were investigating the possibility that cramming people into seats with ever-decreasing legroom might be the reason that several passengers on long-haul flights had developed deep-vein thrombosis and died.
Oom Krisjan also thought about — but did not mention, owing to an unusual attack of good taste — what it must be like sitting next to one of said ex-passengers on a long-haul flight.
As anyone who has had to endure the air-trek to anywhere out of Africa will know (this excludes, of course, all government officials — who travel business class — and the prez, who has a plane all to himself), just about every centimetre of space is accounted for. So what do the cabin crew do with the body? Just leave it in the seat? Lock it in a loo and put an ”out of order” sign on the door?
It seems Lemmer wasn’t the only one pondering this rather unpleasant question. Singapore Airlines, which operates the longest non-stop route in the world — a 17-hour, 12 600km journey between Singapore and Los Angeles — announced this week that its new fleet of Airbus A340-500 aircraft would boast a special ”corpse cupboard” to stow any unexpected casualties.
Apparently this will be a discreet locker next to one of the plane’s exit doors, which is long enough to store an average-sized body, with special straps to prevent any movement during a bumpy landing. As though the corpse would care.
Everyone welcome
We’re dishing out the dosh to decrepit dictators. Not only is the Haitian priest-gone-wrong Jean Bertrand-Aristide about to come here on an extended holiday, but rumours say that South Africa’s also paying up to keep Liberian strong-man Charles Taylor all cushy and comfy in Nigeria.
Heaven help us, when he and Aristide, compare notes. Once the Haitian leader lets on about the splendours of Sandton City, our fine wines and free rents, no doubt Taylor will want to head south, too. And if the dogs of war manage to oust Equatorial president-for-life Teodoro Obiang Nguema, he’ll soon join them. Never mind diplomat’s drive in Tshwane, we’re headed for dictator city.
Stellar comfort
I tell you, there’s no dosh like public dosh to splash around on nonsense. All departments, minor state agencies and minions have taken to taking huge adverts welcoming their new ministers. Come on, guys, there are cheaper ways to brown-nose.
Thami Mazwai, publisher-in-chief of Mafube publishing, has also turned praise-singer for the Xhosa princess and Public Works Minister Stella Sigcau, telling off the Financial Mail for categorising her among those who needed a Cabinet chop. What he forgot to mention is that the good princess keeps Mafube afloat with a steady stream of lucrative contract publishing odd-jobs.