An epic poem from the future

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.

. .
Phillip de Wet

Phillip de Wet

Phillip de Wet writes about politics, society, economics, and the areas where these collide. He has never been anything other than a journalist, though he has been involved in starting new newspapers, magazines and websites, a suspiciously large percentage of which are no longer in business. PGP fingerprint: CF74 7B0F F037 ACB9 779C 902B 793C 8781 4548 D165 Read more from Phillip de Wet

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