When you put kids in political office

9

What happens when two public officers who also happen to be politicians are too idle?  

Well, they either bask in the sun like lizards or engage in some monkeyshines only fit for a kindergarten playground.

High jinks are what happened on Monday when a junior minister called a very junior MP to discuss a candidate for the Lesotho Confusion for Democracy (LCD)’s women’s league elective conference due soon.

What started off as a decent chat between the two juniors soon degenerated into juvenile rants ridiculous enough to embarrass even a five-year-old spoilt brat.

The vitriol-laden conversation was through smses but one of the juniors was so hurt that he decided to take the package to some newspapers.

By the time you read this at least one newspaper will be contemplating carrying that baloney on its national pages (May the Lord have mercy on us). 

When the smses landed on her desk, Scrutator gasped for air.

To say she was shocked is an understatement.

But, because she is generous, she has decided to give you a glimpse. 

Dear adult readers, it is important that before you read these tidbits you go into a trance and try to pretend that you are four years old again.

Only when you are satisfied that you have managed to pretend you are that age can you understand what I am about to dish out.

The tomfoolery began on Monday night when the junior minister called a very junior MP telling him that she wanted him to give a candidate’s name from his constituency ahead of the women’s league elections.

When the phone was answered by his colleague, the junior minister asked that the Junior MP be handed the phone.

The colleague is said to have told the junior minister that the junior MP was busy and she should leave a message if she had urgent issues to discuss.

That seems to have irritated the junior minister who reminded the colleague that it was not proper to answer other people’s phones.

The war of words began when the junior MP sent a message to the junior minister telling her that he did not like her earlier behaviour.

Hon, I don’t like what you just did. In fact I hate it. U don’t ask people who they are when they pick my calls. If its business I’m sure it can wait till Friday,” fumed the junior legislator.

Promptly, the junior Minister replied: “Unfortunately it cdnt bcos we hv to make submissions tmrw Fr candidates for LCD Women’s League! Let’s make it easy Sir. I hate for it to appear as though I am always on your case (eka ke hulahulana le ulnae). From today onwards I’ll never again
bother you! Please erase my number and rest assured I will never bother you
again. I will also inform those who had sent me to you about this! I’m sorry (Ke soabile)
.”

And from there the conversation lost any modicum of civility.

Junior MP: Hulahulana? That’s a strong word. I’ve respected you for a very long time but u can’t read it. You might think I’m gay but hey, I am not Mrs . . . .

Junior minister: Unfortunately everybody except me thinks so! Ha ahaaaaaa! (Does anyone hear that long laugh?). Now it’s time you convince all these people that you r not! But with you attitude! I bet you’ll. Need some amazing grace! Good luck and leave me the hell alone.

What followed thereafter is unprintable.

The junior minister was accused of some things that Scrutator is sure will be toxic if she prints them.

The junior minister called the junior MP, a full blown man, a woman and told him to come “out of the closet”.

The junior MP, who must have been choking with anger by now, accused the junior minister of being an “opportunist” in the same league as Kanye Mbau, that South African former township girl who now attends parties for a living.

By the time the conversation ended mothers had been insulted and relatives had been called names.

The next day the junior MP told the junior minister that he was going to forward the smses to local newspapers.

Scrutator is sure that by now, dear reader, you have understood why kids should not be allowed near political office.

In the meantime, Scrutator is waiting for an apology from every person who has accused her of being malicious.

There are people who really deserve such accolades.

Scrutator understands that things in this country are generally very slow.

But she just cannot understand why a South African bank that set up base here last thinks this is something to emulate.

Clients have to wait until their feet are numb before they get served.

This week Scrutator’s colleague endured nearly an hour in a torturously slow queue only to be served by one of the grim-faced tellers at its branch near BNP Centre.

He says the tellers behaved like they had imbibed something that made them move in slow-motion.

According to calculations by Scrutator’s colleagues it took a teller at the bank three minutes to count M500 of M100 notes.

It took four minutes to punch a client’s account details into a computer.

To process a M100 deposit it took seven minutes.

When clients complain that the queue is not moving the clumsy tellers start “disowning” their queues.

They will say “Ah, but my queue is this one and not that one”.

They normally say those words while pointing at the shortest queue in the banking hall so that they do less work. 

Apparently this happens because the bank has no respect for queues and the security guards who yawn endlessly have no interest in making sure that there is order in the banking hall. 

If they are not chatting up girls in the queue at the ATMs outside they are busy basking in the sun, all the while complaining that winter has come too early this year.

He hoa bata ngoaseso (hey, it’s cold my brother),” they will say while rubbing their hands.

They sing the same song until the noon.

Little wonder then that last year’s
profits were equivalent to those of a fast food outlet.

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