I’m still in love with Thahane

Thahane

Timothy ThahaneIt cannot be easy when a man’s world crumbles around him like what has happened to the former Energy, Metorology and Water Affairs Minister this week.

Being fired from the lofty plinth of cabinet minister to becoming a commoner like Scrutator overnight cannot be easy.

What with all the perks that go with being minister that Timothy Thahane had grown accustomed to in his many years of service that he must now forfeit overnight.

I must admit that I have always had a huge crash for Thahane.

Thahane was probably the most handsome man in cabinet.

He is a bit reserved in outlook but the man is obviously deeply intelligent.

Forgive me Mrs Thahane but Scrutator must maintain her reputation of telling the truth.

Whenever I have bumped into Thahane at his favourite breakfast or dinner joints at the Lesotho Sun (in that Chinese restaurant with all its palatable dishes), I have always tried to draw a seat near him and try to charm myself into his heart.

It has never worked. He almost always looks the other way. I am not sure if this is a result of some unflinching commitment Thahane has to Mrs Thahane or it’s simply because ageing Scrutator is no longer pretty enough.

My spirits are nonetheless not dampened and I won’t give up.

There are always good reasons why any lady would wish to date a serving or former finance minister.

It’s not only because of their control and proximity to the national cookie jar.

Surely, for anyone to become finance minister, they must hold some record in spinning money or at least be endowed with the brain power to churn out maloti bills faster than the average man.

Despite my criticism of my fellow Basotho and their lack of entrepreneurial skills and their consequent inability to generate the bucks for investment in any substantial industries other than the car wash industry, I must confess for the first time that I am your chief culprit.

I have never been able to make money for myself.

Probably that explains why I am always whining.

So I have asked myself: Why not opt for the easiest route and hitch myself to a wealthy man.

I am told that every ex or serving finance minister anywhere in the world must somehow be rich.

Again, that is not because of their proximity to the national cookie jar, but because of the assumption that every finance minister is so appointed because of their ability to make money, not only for their country but for themselves as well.

But even if that ability stems from such proximity to the national purse, who cares in this day.  Moolah is Moolah.

There is that small country called Brunei tucked in countries somewhere between Malaysia and the South China Sea.

Brunei’s former finance minister, Jefri Bolkiah, aka the playboy prince, infamously fleeced US$16 billion, a whopping 175 billion maloti at today’s exchange rate, out of his country’s public purse.

Even though Brunei’s ruler, some guy known as Sultan Hassanal Bolkiah, promptly fired his brother Jefri, there is no word on whether or not any cent was ever recovered.

With 175 billion maloti, one could surely buy both Lesotho and Swaziland.

Lesotho is by no means Brunei, which is rich in gas and oil and can afford every luxury for its inhabitants including the most modern Maserati and plush house with gold and platinum plated toilet seats.

Because of the distance factor there is no chance under the Sun Scrutator could get anywhere closer to Bolikiah.

And since Lesotho rarely attracts fancy visitors, I will not even entertain the dream.

But forgive me Basotho, I will not give up on Thahane, not for any billionaire from Brunei or elsewhere.

Scrutator knows that Thahane would not need to loot the national purse to spoil Scrutator were she ever to get the chance to be his girlfriend.

Thahane, whose CV can only be matched by few in the region is a man of comfortable means, whether or not those allegations are true.

He could easily give Scrutator her only chance to zoom around her village Qacha aboard one of Ntate Matekane’s helicopters available for hire, or finally afford  that elusive holiday on one of the Mauritian beaches.

That is, of course, if Scrutator can land the man of her dreams.

Scrutator is a modest woman but she still enjoys the finer things in life.

Please Basotho, don’t misconstrue me.

I am not advocating the plunder of our national resources.

I am simply being realistic. If we had to go for every minister who has been caught with hands in the national cookie jar, no African government would ever have a cabinet which lasts a day.

Because of his brain power, there is a possibility that Thahane could have earned his money legitimately and all the allegations against him will evaporate in smoke.

In any event, if you can’t beat them, join them.

Scrutator almost lost it last Sunday when she read news about the measly wage increases for textile workers.

The least paid factory worker will now earn M972 a month, up from M908.

The increase by a mere M64 translates to barely seven loaves of bread.

So what is the point? Is the idea simply to have a record that factory workers got an increment, just so that someone’s conscience can be cleared in the manner of the old cliché: Half a loaf is better than nothing?

This nominal increase awarded is the joke of the year.

Surely, who in this day and age can afford to live on less than M1 000 a month, let alone raise a family.

Mind you a good number of these factory workers are also university graduates whose only crime is to have been born at the wrong time.

More worryingly, information abounds that some of the revenue from textile exports is not coming back into the country but is being stashed abroad.

If that is the case, then Scrutator thinks a transparent probe is now needed.

Unlike me, none of the factory workers, dreams of Mauritian holidays.

They only want a living wage.

Even if some of these factory women entertain such passions as Scrutator’s, they could never afford a meal at the Lesotho Sun to time for Thahane or any equivalent men.

The least their bosses can do is to enable them a living wage. That’s not too much to ask.  Ache!!!

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