Jip! Guess who’s back? Making tannies stik in their rooibos tea. Here to rape and pillage language, pervert twisted values back to sense, commit plagiarism, incite senseless violence in politicians “famous for the duration” of their lunch time and to make sure all pariahs sue me blind.
Well they should at least try! Yes, it is the one and only Meerkat – raconteur, dilettante, en so wanaangepas en verdraaid soos ‘n koeksister in Sandton. Basically your own Hunter S Thompson or Rian Malan. (Oeps laat ek nog ‘n boegoetjie sluk, just now people think I am bragging, but like Hemingway said, “It’s only bragging if it is not the truth”.)
Anyway. In elk geval. For the next two months I’ll be on the spoor of the true campaign of those sordid beings we call politicians –exposing their politics for what it is: secret agendas, greed, tenderpreneuring and basically shaming the devil. Which brings me to my first subject.
Um, cough, sip, inhale. Sounds like I am about to scrum and maybe this is what it’s going to be. A scrum of the people against the political scum. But back to satan. At first he and his minions were only there to influence rock and roll, nie ‘n slegte joppie nie, maar nou is hy glo agter ons aan. Jip. Oom Fiki Mbalula, daai ou wat so kan sports maak met sy comments, says the devil makes the people boo at old President Dumbgigglessheepexpression. Oh no, the dear Minister of Sports clearly can not put two and two together and realise that the people boo because the volk is gatvol. On the other hand mens moet maar bietjie kruip en hy het hoeka so lekker plekkie op die ANC se candidate list losgeslaan. Cough. Sip. Inhale.
So, more and more, from the pulpit to prison cells, from braaivleisvure to bingo evenings and from Cape Town to the fairest Carletonville everyone is talking politics. (And Oscar of course. After all, both are a bloody mess. And taking Nkandlagate and the High Noon Athlete and hearing people’s comments just makes this West Rand Meerkat realise that we are one screwed-up nation. So scarred and messed up that we want to believe that which so obviously goes against what is reality and truth.)
And the great master of denial, Number One, says he is not going to pay for something he did not ask for, and the volk agrees with a half a billion rand’s worth of outstanding e-toll fees. We agree, Prez, we agree, neither are we.
More and more Jewelsie’s EFF, and Gayton McKenzie and Kunene the Sushi King’s gang of hooligans seem like a viable alternative in a country where the ruling party’s moral compass has been blown apart by Marikana, grinded into the cement of Nkandla, left on the backseat of the Gupta jet and now is being used as a fan by old Nick himself. Yet my fears grow that the masses will stay in denial (not the river in Egypt) and vote accordingly.
Cough. Sip. Inhale. Even sports have lost its nation-building qualities. Like a bunch of drug addicts they chase the high of ’95, which they never again will have, even if we win ten world cups in whatever discipline of sports. (Even skyfskiet has been taken to its natural grisly conclusion and exposed our psyche for what it is.) This is a nation of which the president’s remuneration is higher than what the leaders of first-world countries such as France and England earn, and of which the majority of people are on the brink of starvation and exposed to the elements while the bloated swine swindle and waste that which should have fed a generation of hungry stomachs.
Hey, remember? This is that noblest of times for that failed system that we call democracy – elections.
Nothing can be trusted anymore. Not even the IEC, so they say. I want to make jokes and mock but there is something invisible and dark in the buitekamer of the world that is South Africa. Something that hisses like a snake, curls itself around my spine, slowly squeezing the air from my lungs …
Its the death of the Rainbow Nation, unless …
