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“He is back, Mr. President.”
“Who is back?”
“That fool that writes on News24.” Said Hlaudi Motsoeneng, CEO of The SABC. “That Real Housewives of Nkandla nonsense.”
“That bastard. But, how?” President Zuma dried his hair as he stepped out of his fire pool, wearing a red speedo with a machine drawn on the front. “Didn’t you hire him at the SABC?”
The CEO of the SABC lowered his head. “No sir. I tried to, but then when I was considering what salary to pay him…I decided to give myself another raise. There is no money to hire him.”
The President’s butler, a man named People rushed over and draped a robe over his shoulders. Zuma shook his head slowly, “Eish, Hlaudi. You get more raises than a Viagra test group, Ahe, Ahe, Ahe.”
The two men began walking back to the massive building - Zuma’s Nkandla home.
“But don’t worry Mr. President.” Motsoeneng said. “We can get him if we get through this Journalism License initiative I want to implement.”
“What License is this?”
Zuma pushed open the double wide doors and stepped into his R250 million home.
“It is this plan that all journalists must have a license to report the news. In doing so, we can take away their licenses if we believe they are not being fair to us and put them in prison if they continue to write negative stories about us.”
Zuma stopped in his tracks. People dropped to his knees and slid a pair of slippers onto the presidents’ feet. “Brilliant idea Hlaudi. Absolutely brilliant. The population don’t need to know…what ever we don’t want them to know. This way we can make sure only people with the right qualifications can do the job. After all, there is nothing worse than having someone in a position that they are not qualified for. Am I right?”
The two men paused, stared at each other in total silence, then broke down laughing. Hot tears rolling down their faces.
“Eish, my stomach hurts.” Said Zuma finally.
“Are you still not feeling well, sir?”
“Ja,” responded Zuma. “No matter how many showers I’m taking, I am still not feeling good. I think it is the stress and pressure these people are putting me under.”
“I know sir.”
“Like People here.” The president gestured to his butler. “He just doesn’t understand. I gave him food parcels for his vote, and he voted for me. But now he wants more food from me. Now he wants me to create those jobs I promised. I mean really! I’ve already won the election and the next election is five years away. He will get his food and jobs then.”
“I know sir. These people are spoilt.”
The two men walked into President Zuma’s office. Hlaudi waited the five minutes it took for Zuma to walk around his desk and then to take a seat.
“First they complain about me spending a little money on this humble dwelling, and now they are upset that a measly R48 million spent on my inauguration. What can you do with R48 million Hlaudi? I mean really. These people want to treat me like a savage.”
“It is not right Mr. President.” The CEO of the SABC’s checked his watch. “I’m sorry Mr. President. It is getting late and I have another meeting to get to. I need to tell the salary department to give me another raise before they go home.”
