Electric Spaghetti| The personal blog of Saaleha Idrees Bamjee; wordworker, idea girl.

September 28, 2007

Tell me God doesn’t have a sense of humour…

… and I’ll direct you to the front pages of South Africa’s major national newspapers to disprove you.

- A warrant for arrest issued for our National Police Commissioner Jackie Selebi by National Director of the National Prosecuting Authority Adv Vusi Pikoli (who’s been suspended incidentally). Selebi is the Head of Interpol. Cue canned laughter.

- Our sick Health Minister Manto Tshabalala-Msimang is reported to have ‘seen the light’ in this morning’s edition of The Star. Hundreds of clueless homeless people were bussed off to Pretoria yesterday to participate in a mass prayer session for the newly-livered troubled soul. One of the indigent participants said he did not know who or what he was praying for, and only went because he was told he would get food there. I suppose the homeless are generally safe around kleptomaniacs. After Tshabalala-Msimang took communion, and imbibed the spirit (something which she is obviously not unaccustomed to) The Star reported her saying, “I am feeling completely revived and energised… I am not going to let up in continuing to discharge my duties to help improve the quality of life of all South Africans.”
God save us. It’s not funny anymore.

September 8, 2007

testosterone soap opera

It was that of every great narrative, there-in the dichotomies of human experience; good and evil, light and dark, adversity and triumph.

Stories where they threaded; protagonists on the precipice, the victorious who rise from the ashes of their seeming defeat, the underdog, the powerful and arrogant, brothers in arms.
All of whom were smacked by those moments of utter futility, where even the brief marriage of hand on hand could mean the difference between pride and its death, where to grasp the tensile rope for support is to turn the battle on its flank.

This is where gods are made and leveled.

There was the bitterness of being close enough to take Victory by her shoulder, only to have no witness of referee to your triumph. But as it is in the Great Plot that guides this through, Good will always prevail.
It is with every tale that there are those who are loved beyond fallibility and those who incite the fevered choirs of “You Suck! You Suck!” when they dare to displace heroes.
And as it is with all the stories of our times, there will always be the ebullient adulation of one or a mass who will erupt in the greatness of the moment when the right man holds up the leather and gold, for all to witness, “I am a champion!”