Mbaks must be wondering why Cyril did this to him

Mbaks pulled the combat cap low over his eyes and looked around the room, satisfied that the windows had been taped up to prevent glass splinters from doing damage in the event of an accurate shell strike.

He adjusted his Andy Warhol-styled ’60s spectacles (now painted dull camouflage green) and barked out orders (he would never call himself Commander in Chief, because that boy with the red beret from Seshego had already taken that.)

“Let them in,” he commanded one of his minions, quickly lapsing into a scowl when he noticed most of the comrades were wearing Louis Vuitton and Prada.

“Why are you not wearing camouflage?” he roared, “This is my War Room and we need to dress for war!” The answer came quickly: “Remember, chief, you gave the contract for the camouflage clothing to Comrade Carl Niehaus, because he was actually in MK, and then he gave the tender to his girlfriend’s brother who runs a shebeen in Tembisa, and he then subcontracted to a company in China…”

“Comrades! To the matters at hand. I am the minister of transport and I wish to have your update assessment of that,” roared Mbaks.“First, roads!”

A civil servant looked down at his laptop (but its battery had just died and there was no power in the War Room because of loadshedding).

“They are partially buggered”, he muttered, continuing “Nobody is paying e-tolls and there are potholes everywhere.”

Mbaks sniffed: “Rail?”

“Completely stuffed,” was another civil servant’s reply. “The Prasa coaches which haven’t been set alight are carrying fewer people than in the past 10 years. Our new trains are too tall for the platforms, so those will have to be raised. And the new users’ handbooks for the ones we are buying from China are all in Mandarin.”

“And in the air?” asked the minister.

“Well, comrade,” came another tired voice, this time of the token woman present, “presumably you have seen what is happening at SAA?”

“What are you doing about it?” Mbaks shouted, “and don’t tell me it’s Pravin’s job. I understand transport: my convoy travels regularly on the highways; I flew to Russia for the World Cup in an expensive private jet and, last month, I caught the Gautrain!

“I ask you again: what are you doing about it?”

“Well, Comrade,” she answered, “we have instructed everyone in the department to use Kulula to fly locally and to book on Emirates when travelling overseas.”

Suddenly, Mbaks was overcome by a vast feeling of defeat.

“Why did Cyril do this to me? I deserved something better because I quickly jumped to his side away from the Zumas.”

From the back came another voice: “Comrade, you are lucky.

“You could have got public enterprises, education, health, police, home affairs, treasury, foreign affairs, defence, housing, social services, communications, arts and culture…”

Mbaks couldn’t hold back the tears: “Why could they not give sport back to me? I want a selfie with Siya Kolisi!”

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