The Commander in Chief has been ‘bopha-ed’. Again

2014-03-24 15:00

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Thursday. The Croc and I are afkoeling outside the cop shop around the corner from the Commander in Chief’s pozi in Nxamalala. Nxamalala’s the village from which the CiC comes.

Nxamalala’s about 60km from Nkandla. Nkandla is, to quote a former colleague formerly known as Junior, a town.

The Croc and I aren’t in the clutches of the Babylon. We’re not waiting for charge office bail for urinating in public or getting jammed with a bankie of Ambrosini at the stop-and-search up the road from Number One’s hacienda. None of that.

The Croc and I are legal. Legit. Pure as the driven snow. On the right side of the law. Upstanding citizens, gainfully employed, even if it is at raking muck. Unlike the CiC. Today, it’s the CIC who’s getting charged.

Zeelah’s decided to jack Thuli Madonsela’s airtime. Charge the Big Man for appointing Minenhle Makhanya to turn a security upgrade into a money tree. Kinda like Jesus. But different.

Zeelah’s not happy to lay the charge at the Nkandla pig pen though. The Nkandla cop shop’s about 60km away from Casa Msholozi. Too far away to sufficiently wind up the locals and the nutters running the ANC’s Musa Dladla region. And draw enough cameras away from Madonsela’s wig and Oscar’s Black Talons to get herself back in the headlines.

Zeelah decides to bopha Msholozi at the satellite station in Nxamalala. After sending out a press alert. Complete with free transport to the scene of the crime in the fleet of air-conditioned kombis, which eventually turns up at the tiny shop front at the Tussong One Stop Centre.

Zeelah’s been to Nxamalala before. On a Sunday. So was the Croc. It was our day off. That was the day Zeelah got the name Zeelah. Zeelah clearly didn’t like Nxamalala. Nxamalala definitely didn’t like Zeelah.

Zeelah’s not thick. Zeelah’s deployed Mmusi Maimane and Wilmot James to come to the Kingdom and do the deed for her. Experience some Zululand hospitality first-hand. With the odd half-brick and a whiff of tear gas. Lights, camera, action.

The Croc and I are waiting outside the cop shop. The DA convoy finally arrives. The fleet of kombis and SUVs fills up the Tussong parking lot. A swarm of Zeelah’s media types jump out.

They all have a tablet in one hand and a smartphone in another. They’re using both at the same time while barking out orders to each other.

There are even some who have cameras as well. I’m not sure if they used them all at the same time though.

Another swarm of media types pours out of the DA kombis. They’re journalists who have been brought along by the DA. But they’re not part of the DA propaganda machine, I’m told.

Then nothing happens. For quite a while. It’s all very Hensonesque. There’s Muppets tripping each other up while running around in circles taking pictures of everything they see.

It turns out Maimane’s not with the convoy. Nobody from the DA will tell me why. I suppose they don’t want to admit that the cat they want to run Gauteng missed his plane or something like that.

The five locals at the fence look amused. The 500 cops who’ve had to stop fighting crime for the day aren’t. Neither are the Croc and I. We’re discussing laying a complaint with Madonsela against Zeelah for wasting state resources when Maimane eventually pitches.

There’s this mad flurry of elbows and cameras inside the cupboard-sized cop shop when the charge gets laid. The cops turf the shooters out. I don’t blame them. Shooters can get like animals on occasions like this. Even the Croc.

A few seconds later and it’s all over. The CiC’s been bopha-ed. Again. Number 1 must be getting tired of this.

It’s a pretty theoretical bopha-ing though. Nothing like any of the times I’d been arrested. Nobody’s going to turn up at the Union Buildings, cuff Msholozi’s hands behind his back and ram his forehead against the top of the doorsill while loading him in the back of the pig van.

Nobody’s going to lock him in the garage at the back, turn out the lights and kick the shit out of him.

Number 1’s not getting thrown into the grill under the courtroom 30 minutes before the big van arrives with the awaiting-trial animals from Sun City for their three-monthly shopping spree.

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