In the morning I ask them if they let Nkuli on the fuck and they say 'hell no' and then I ask if he voyeured the whole sweaty activities and he tells me he left as well. Sweet boy.

Something very funny happens when early in the morning I get a call from the mayor of my municipality. I'm thinking that I 'm not even in Bushbuckridge and he tells me that he called me just to say 'hi'. Funny hey, a mayor calling someone who has been critical of the way he runs the municipality for such a long time only to say hi. This is inspiring stuff. I've recently been entertaining thoughts of playing the Roman Fool (committing suicide) by falling on my own pen as I now go full blast for my chase of the mighty dollar but now I change my mind - the mayor makes me feel like I truly matter..

And more inspiration comes from me meeting Melinda Ferguson (Smacked author and True Love senior journalist) and noseweek editor Martin Welz. Well, in this industry this are the guys we look up to for their staying power without resorting to any Viagra. When I grow up (to borrow a line from Kwaki) I want to be just like them.

When the workshop drags on I notice a healthy overwhelming attraction between yours sincerely and a pretty light skinned woman whose name I don't know but I just feel I like as if I've never liked anything before. But if you've been in my shoes and know the difference between beauty and beauty with brains you should know that when it's a rap it's a rap. At some stage we get to chat (something I wanted to do since the first day when I spotted her) and she tells me about how she'll still be hanging in South Afrika after the worshop for a few days. I enquire about how she'll be conquering the boredom of city living and she tells me that she'll be strolling around and smoking some of the best weed she can find around. You should have seen how my eyes widened and I looked like a child thrown into a chocolate factory at the mere mentioning of hydro.

She tells me she has a spliff which she hooked up from some rastafarian who's bored with his own revolution and wants new recruits. We talk about the logistics of meditating during one of the million breaks and we organise the venue. She's rather afraid that if the authorities busts us on our session they will deport her since she comes from Namibia. I tell her to hell with deportation if she only has enough to puff and nothing to deal. "They can't throw you out of the country over a single joint", I give her free legal advise. I tell her I suspect that even the president smokes. I tell her we'll hook up a spot where we can smoke in peace.

During tea time she comes through while I'm finishing my cup and we find a place at one of the stadiums at Wits. We spot a shade where we go and chill, and she pulls out a blunt and a box of matches and I spark it and we puff and she becomes paranoid because the smell might alert the narcotics squad and she lights a cigarette and I keep puffing and give to her and she puffs and confesses that she doesn't need to smoke a lot but a little, well me I finish the muthafucka and we agree that I should come to Namibia without any attempt to smuggle the Swazi since she will organise when I'm that side and we agree that for shietzy I will arrange to come once the National Lottery is up and running again (joking). Right here I feel what Shaft once joked about relating to the sisters who have never smoked near to waterfalls to the point that if you took them there they would brag to their friends, 'wow my friend, I met this lion that took me to Zion'. This here now feels like Zion and I doubt if I'm a lion since the sister resembles a lioness.

We move back and it's all good and after everything else when all stuff is said and done she takes my details 'just incase you lose mine', she says and we depart and I can't wait to go to Namibia cuz I sensed some serious attraction which I love and her hand is soft I felt it when she was ascending in stillettos and I had to give her a hand. I love the attraction and it was strong - period.


When I get to the hotel, Bruce, some chap I knew from Lowveld Media and who made contact with us on the second night is there and we chat. Actually most of the time we talk shit. Well, tonight we chat about Bushbuckridge, its radio station and stuff like that and we talk about the Vaseline and Glycerine and he adds that in the absense of the two the little Bishop in Bulawayo could have used Gasoline. 'It's the 'line' that matters not the lubricant' , he says humourously.

He then warns that in the event of gasoline being the lubricant of choice there needs to be a fire extinguisher next to the bed incase of fire because it is a flammable liquid. This draws laughter from all of us.

Talk is suddenly about how creative Mugabe is and how he can win an Emmy Award if he entered some of the dramas he films, like that one of Morgan Tsvangarai plotting to kill him with some chaps in a dark smoke-filled room reminiscent of the Sopranos. Well I'm reliably informed that the President writes the scripts and gets film crews to shoot the flicks, like getting someone from SABC Africa to provide him with a camera and soundbites.

This other guy who I'm not going to disclose because he told me this story off the record and who is not Nkululeko (to save him from desperate Zimbabwe Central Intelligenge Organisation agents) says that all the flicks are executively produced by Uncle Robert himself.

"Some of the reality TV coming out of Zimbabwe would make Mark Burnett green with envy. He makes Carte Blanche looks rehearsed and scenes re-enacted"
He was saying this in response to the Bishop Pius Ncube tape. "Clever editing, good sound and excellent choreography".

Well this is (not) the story of my life on the few days I was in Jozi. I'm going back for the chicken something-something, Uhuru should remind me. And I'm fixing to go to Windhoek. Let's hope next time we can have a WHAT HAPPENS IN NAMIBIA... I'm living my life for sure!

Ooops, the little Bishop has since quit, feels like a chess board right, because king Mugabe used the horse (ZCIO) to topple him.

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