Light At The End Of The Tunnel?

We said we would never get into the morass we are in right now. How wrong we were! The Zambians are laughing at us and so are the Congolese! It never seizes to amaze, how Zimbabwe continues to break records in as far as misrule is concerned. Why have we allowed ourselves to be the laughing stock of the free world? Zimbabwe is now a case study in how to run a once stable economy into the ground and blame it on everyone but us. However, there seems to be a glimmer of hope.

Zimbabwe could take at least 24 months to recover if things normalized tomorrow. So says economist Professor Tony Hawkins of the University of Zimbabwe (UZ). The venerable don believes there is light at the end of the tunnel as long as the authorities address economic fundamentals as a matter of urgency.

Commenting on the prospects of recovery, Prof Hawkins gives the examples of the same Zambia and the Democratic Republic of Congo whose economies have rapidly come out of the doldrums in a short space of time. In terms of investment, it would be wise to bank on mining, tourism, Health care and utilities, sectors which all exhibited a high potential of good medium term recovery. Manufacturing, agriculture and probably financial services faced tougher prospects.

Prof Hawkins, a lecturer in UZ’s Faculty of Commerce, puts in figures what we all already know, that all the sectors are depressed and that the Zimbabwe dollar is in freefall predicting that the official rate will drop further to Z$50,000 to the US dollar by Christmas and probably $100,000 to the US$ by December, 2006. This is assuming that inflation rises by 15% per month for the rest of the year. Effectively this means that people are poorer now than they were in 1970.

Structural factors and not the drought are the major cause of economic decline, says Prof Hawkins, a fervent critic of the government’s tinkering with the economy.

“This is the seventh year of decline that has seen the Gross Domestic Product go down to 5%. GDP will decline by a further 10% by the end of the year and that for as long as agriculture, once the mainstay of the economy failed to recover, exports will continue to decline. Investment therefore cannot take place in a high inflationary, declining economy,” he says.

Professor Hawkins draws similarities to what happened in 2000 when property prices doubled, the parallel market increased five-fold and price controls were revived. Massive structural changes have indeed taken place particularly the demise of large-scale agriculture, de-industrialization, shifts in demographics and market segments. This presents industrialists with challenges that point to a sink or swim scenario.
In order for them to stay afloat, industrialists will have to find an answer to China’s new low cost, low price, and low wage approach. Secondly, they have to take cognizance of the fact that the middle-income group has shrunk significantly either through migration or down to the poor sector of the population. At least 55% of the population is living on US$1 a day. This means that the lower income group has expanded indicating that in order to survive, manufacturers should downgrade their goods in order to target this group. The alternative will be to cater for the rather static upper bracket of ‘fat cats’ with mostly imported, high price luxury goods.

Prof Hawkins says that the best prospects come from what he terms ‘Demand Innovation.’ There is need for industrialists to ‘think outside the box’ and redefine their markets by finding new ways of doing things, making products and providing services in addition to meeting demand. This points out to new collaborative opportunities where local companies should explore production links with firms in South Africa in the areas of research and development.

Therefore, focus should be on soft technologies of human capital; technology and knowledge transfer rather than hard ones. However, in an economy as volatile as ours with an equally unpredictable leadership, the light at the end of the tunnel could well be that of a speeding train bearing down on us.

If you are lazy you better read this

WORK is a four-letter word. This holds true for those of us who are effort disinclined, or put more simply, lazy. But have you ever felt you are working too hard, for too long, for too little? Well before you pour out your grief, you have to contend with those people who give far less than what they get in the form of remuneration. They are called ‘Bosses.’ They are likely to label you as lazy when you may be exercising your rights in ‘rationing production.’

We must admit though that there are some who spoil things for the rest of us by being blatantly lazy. They deserve to be frozen, downgraded or better still, ‘right-sized, yes, I mean retrenched!

Fortunately there seems to be a way around this problem. Psychologists and experts in the art of deception (cheats) have studied activities that on the surface give the impression that one can be a sure candidate for being ‘Worker of the Year’ when in actual fact they are just lazing around. Here are tried and tested strategies for creating the false impression that one was ‘working hard’. Keep them confidential. An over enthusiastic former colleague forwarded them to his boss’s e-mail address by mistake. As they say, he is now history.

But then I digress. One should never walk down the corridor without a document in his or her hands. People with documents in their hands look like hardworking employees heading for important meetings, when they are not. Those with nothing in their hands look like they're heading for the canteen. When holding a newspaper in your hands, look like you're heading for the toilet. Above all, make sure you carry loads of stuff home with you at night, thus generating the ruse that you work longer hours than you actually do. Though, of course, it would be hard to justify a claim for those extra hours.

This is one is my favourite… use computers to look busy. Any time you use a computer, it looks like "work" to the casual observer. You can send and receive personal e-mail, calculate your finances and generally have a blast without doing anything remotely related to work. These aren't exactly the societal benefits that the proponents of the computer revolution would like to talk about but they’re not bad either. When your boss catches you, and you “will” get caught, your best defense is to claim you're teaching yourself to use new software, thus saving the company valuable training dollars.

Top management can get away with a clean desk. For the rest of us, it looks like you're not working hard enough. Build huge piles of documents around your workspace. For this reason a friend’s office looks as if it was on the path of Operation Murambatsvina. To the casual observer, last year's work looks much the same as today's work; it's volume that count. Pile them high and wide. If you know somebody is coming to your office or cubicle, bury the document you'll find halfway down in an existing stack and rummage for it when they arrive.

Never answer your phone. People don't call you just because they want to give you something for nothing. They call because they want YOU to do work for THEM. That's no way to live. Screen all your calls through reception. If somebody leaves a message for you and it sounds like impending work, respond during lunch hour when you know they're not there. You see, one can never tell what time the message was left. It will look as if you're hardworking and conscientious even though you're being a devious mampara.

If you diligently employ the method of screening incoming calls and then returning calls when nobody is there, this will greatly increase the odds that the caller will give up or look for a solution that doesn't involve you.

One should also always try to look impatient and annoyed to give your bosses the impression that you are always busy. Speak fast, and stand at the door, ready to rush back to your office. Even pick up the phone when he comes into your office and look engrossed in a business call that gives the impression that it will result in millions of dollars flowing into the company account.

Appear to work late. Always leave the office late, especially when the boss is still around. You could tackle magazines and novels that you always wanted to read or surf the Internet but had no time until late before leaving. Make sure you walk past the boss's office on your way out. Send important e-mails at unearthly hours (e.g. 9:35pm, 2:05am, etc.) and during weekends and public holidays and make sure the boss sees the copies, with the times highlighted for extra effect.

“Creative Sighing for Effect” strategy also works wonders. Sigh loudly when there are many people around, giving the impression that you are very hard pressed. It is not enough to pile lots of documents on the table. Put lots of books on the floor. You can always borrow from the library. Thick computer manuals are the best. This is known as the ‘stacking’ strategy.

Always make sure you build on your vocabulary, or more accurately, superfluous wording that can be thrown around liberally. Sounds more like a political speech, a lot of hot air signifying totally nothing. To achieve this, read up on some legal journals and pick out all the jargon. Use it freely when in conversation with bosses and it will sure knock them for six. They won't have to understand what you say but, ipso facto, you will surely sound impressive.

Finally and most importantly, a friendly warning: don't forward this to your boss by mistake. What do you mean YOU are the boss?


Glossary

Operation ‘Murambatvina’
(Lit: Operation Reject Filth in the Shona language). An ill thought out operation by the Mugabe government in Zimbabwe were thousands were made homeless as the state went on a orgy of destruction in the urban areas on the pretext that they were cleaning up. Coincidentally, it is the urban population that has consistently voted for the opposition Movement for Democratic Change in successive parliamentary elections.

Mampara
Vernacular for a very irresponsible person. The South African broadsheet the Sunday Times pillories mamparadom in politicians and celebrities culminating in a ‘Mampara of the Year’ award. Zimbabwe’s Robert Mugabe and former government spin-doctor Jonathan Moyo have been past recipients of the award.

Lest we forget...

Jonathan Nathaniel Manheru ‘Mzala Joe’ Moyo, former government wizard of spin, committed political hara-kiri by going independent in Tsholotsho in the last elections or so we thought. Arriving at the nomination courts 15 minutes before their closure, Moyo virtually handed in a political suicide note in the form of his nomination papers much to the delight of the crowd that thronged the court buildings.

The former junior minister’ fate then reminded one of those Humpty Dumpty rhymes – “All the Tsholotsho chiefs’ donkeys and all the chiefs’ men, could not put the egg-shape headed professor back again!” The man who claimed to have saved the Party (meaning Zanu PF) from sinking into oblivion was reeling from its venom. But then, Moyo went on to defy all odds to grab the Tsholotsho seat as an independent! Which says a lot about the people from that region. The rest as they say was history.

One thing became crystal clear; that Jonah’s coterie of praise singers and bootlickers in the state media would certainly get what was coming to them. The Chronicle’s Steve Ndlovu was first to be shown the door. Others are being lined up at the door. It’s a matter of time.

It was Peter Hobday, broadcaster and former presenter of BBC’s Today programme who once said, “Journalists, it is alleged, are an egocentric, single-minded, cynical, unforgiving bunch who have only one wish in life and that is to dig the dirt and ruin reputation, regardless of the facts.” He took the words out of my mouth only that he forgot to replace the word ‘journalists’ with ‘Special Project Editors” that group of hair-brained megaphones pretending to be investigative scribes.

One can safely conclude, without batting an eyelid, that Zimpapers under Jonathan Moyo was his longest suicide note in the history of politics. Now he is the sell-out, a title only reserved to the piss of the earth in ruling party definition. His is persona non grata in their pages. Its as if he never existed. Surprisingly, the very independent press that he was instrumental in oppressing is falling over each other to grant him space. It is one of life’s greatest ironies if you ask me.

We will definitely see some changes at Zimpapers with some editors looking for new accommodation in Dangamvura, Macheke or even Domboramavara. I couldn’t care less if they were shipped to Siberia. Out too will be the acid pens of fifth columnists, whose diction was suspiciously Jonathanic in shape and form, libelous, sacrilegious and downright vulgar. No journalist with all his screws in the right place would ever have dared put his signature to such drivel.

We hoped that Moyo’s departure would save us from some of the most moronic brand of reporting this side of the galaxy. He of ‘rocket scientist’ fame will be remembered by many of his uncanny ability to churn out clichés by the bucketful. They crept into every editorial in the state media to the extent that one suspected that he that he personally penned every one of those stories. The man had such stamina.

But lo and behold we are saddled with the not so Bright – aaah! - Matonga. The wet behind the ears deputy minister of Disinformation clearly needs an intelligent interpreter to decipher for us all those aaaahs and uumms that punctuate his speech. And Rueeeben Barwe is still there in his breathtakingly stupid glory. The man who took bootlicking to unprecedented depths is still groveling for his supper.

We in Zimbabwe are all in agreement on the urgent sanitization of that collection of mediocrity masquerading as a broadcasting company, Zimbabwe Broadcasting Holdings. Perish that awful experiment in spacing radio stations to give the impression of opening up the airwaves, or that perennial excuse called National Television which has been ‘coming soon’ for ages.

And the public should be happy too, that they are rid of a man created so much resentment and anger for the party through his acts in restricting their behaviour. In media studies, psychological reactance theory refers to legacy of the Moyo that was a “deliberate and systematic attempt to shape perceptions, manipulate cognitions and direct behaviour to achieve a response that furthers the desired intent of the propagandist.” - with apologies to media lecturer Kevin Moloney.

Perhaps happy days are around the corner. I hear Minister for Policy Implementation and former disk jockey Webster Shamu commissioned an inquiry at the national broadcaster whose juicy parts have just been leaked. It talks of carpet interviews, incompetent newsmen (as if didn’t we know), the dubious and economically bankrupt 100% local rubbish (sorry) content policy at Power FM and many other things that would make the at the back of your neck stand up. We await with bated breath perceived changes at Dead BC and the state press.

ARROGANCE PERSONIFIED

I have published this week a picture of me sitting on a pile of stones. This intriguing yet symbolic photograph was taken in Sweden at a place called Kungsgraven (King’s Grave) sometime in 1995. The epitaph “Sitting on Zimbabwe Ruins” is poignant in the sense that it portrays the state of my beloved country at this very moment in time. To say that we are sitting on the ruins of a once admired and beautiful country is an understatement. We are well and truly “fucked,” to excuse the hard language, because there is no fairer description.

President Mugabe has just returned from a much-publicized begging jaunt in China, them being just about the only friends we have left in the whole wide world. The Libyans lost patience with us a long time ago and the oil pumps dried up immediately afterwards. We are not privy to the information on the thousands of acres of land the North Africans were plied with in return for barrels of motion lotion. The rumour is that Mugabe, also known as uKhulu (which is a polite alternative to ‘geriatric.’) to some of us, has promised the Chinese all our platinum and copper reserves. I said it was a rumour.

Cuba has little else to offer other than half-baked doctors. African states, poor as they are, can do little except cheer from the sidelines…as long as the pariah of the world does not set foot in their countries and smear them with whatever is keeping western donors as far away as possible from our doorstep. Besides these two, who else is friendly? South Africa? Not on your life! Mbeki is stocking the fire because he is gaining immensely from our demise. They call it “Cash Cow” diplomacy.

The words of the South African president at the national land summit in Johannesburg at the weekend and quoted in the local press gave very little comfort to us Zimbabweans. It displays the bankruptcy of African leadership. How can he stand up and defend the indefensible, Zimbabweans ask? We thought that was the job of clueless Zimbabwean government ministers and our stuttering state propaganda machinery.

I quote, “ The debt problem in Zimbabwe is the result of the demand to meet the urgent needs of the people after liberation, the Government of Zimbabwe spent more money than it had.” He was implying that it was not because of political and economic mismanagement. One would be forgiven for thinking that Mbeki received the speech straight from our own spin-doctors. If we were to give him the benefit of doubt, we could say perhaps he was misquoted.

Let’s get back to Ukhulu (Grandpa) who came from China with a basket full of…nothing. Zimbabwe, as you know by now, was the breadbasket of the region. Sadly, we are now a basket case. The painful part is that our dear leaders are in a state of denial. They are not responsible, the say, for the morass we find ourselves in. If you have studied management, I am sure that you have come across somewhere where it says that the hallmark of good leadership is acknowledging when you are wrong.

WHY THE NAME GRAFFIKS?

I think I owe some people an explanation. If you are logging in for the first time then it’s a warm welcome. I have been spamming the SMS domain with this web address with the hope that through this blog I will one day be famous. So you are part of a chain that will inevitably circle the globe…and I will be stinking rich by then. But then I digress. Why Graffiks On the Net? Why the name Graffiks in the first place? The profile on the right (mug shot included) does little justice in explaining this mystery.

Well, the nickname ‘Graffiks’ was self-coined. In other words by normal standards of nicknames it breaks convention. By definition a nickname is a short, clever, cute, derogatory, or otherwise substitute name for a person or thing's real name. As a concept, it is distinct from both pseudonym and stage name, although there may be overlap in these concepts. That’s the academic definition by the way. In simpler terms it is the first name by which one is commonly called, differing from the formal name one was given at birth, usually belittling the person.

But as we all know, a nickname is not always flattering and that the owners usually resist them. The more they resist it, the more it tends to stick. I did have a host of uncomplimentary nicknames once. I was called Lolo, which sounded like lollipop. Then there was Leox Beef, then 'Lenyosi' then…the list was endless. The worst nickname I had was being called ‘mistake.’ The chap who ‘chested’ that one on me regrets doing so to this very day. Which explains why it never really clung.

Anyway, I had the rare privilege of choosing a nice nickname for myself. The story goes thus…Once upon a time when stones were still soft (in 1985), I was admitted into the University of Zimbabwe as an undergraduate student. University was a blast with plenty women and alcohol flowing in its treelined avenues and hotel like residences. I was nevertheless determined to succeed as we all were…with a few exceptions of course. There were those who came to have a peek, like the late Mike Munyati (Lord bless his soul) who nearly took a lifetime to complete his first degree only to give up. And those who wanted to make a loud statement like Arthur Mutambara (later referred to as ‘tukitsi’ by uKhulu Bob) who was forced to literally 'fly' out of his second floor room window because of his reckless utturances. At UZ we leant that there was freedom of speech but Mutambara found out to his peril that there was no freedom after speech.

In the heat of the moment some students got together to start ‘Focus” a students' Magazine. By the way I forgot to tell you that I am (was) a gifted artist. This might shock some of you but when I was in Grade One and Two, teachers used to fight over me to draw illustrations for the Radio Lesson with Miss Charles (with Tendayi, Jane and Moses.) Sad to say I totally missed out on those intriguing episodes where Miss Charles would say: “Alright children, say this after me, ‘The bucket is full’” And a bell would ring (ngqing!) so that we would, in chorus fashion, follow what she had just said.

Needless to say, my command of the Queen’s language was already light years away courtesy of my enterprising father who plied me with cartoon magazines and books bought from the auction and television of course. That did not preclude those South African comic books with weirdly characters like ‘Chunky Charlie’, 'Devil Bat' and 'She.' Chunky Charlie was known for his uncanny ability of solving crime and also retrieving an assortment of items from inside his huge coat that included (and not in that order) a loaf of bread (his favourite meal), a bicycle and at one time a car!

Devil Bat was a vampire, that's enough said, And ‘She’ was this female superhero wearing an Afro wig (a fashion statement of that time) who had a knife (an Okapi) that could fly. (Those of you in the know should be aware that an Okapi knife in the unofficial traditional weapon of the Ndebele.) I should add here that the dialogue in those comics was a bit on the daft side. But for a Grade one or two pupil, it was very sufficient. One expression coined in those comics of old that made its way into everyday language was, “What the?” I was later to discover that it was short for that very vulgar African American expression, “What the f*#k!”

But yet again I digress. The story is about the nickname Graffiks. The guys at college (that is what we called UZ then) who formed Focus magazine included Tawana Kupe (now a famous don at Wits University) Lawrence Tshuma (now late) Titus Moetsabi (later known ominously as Moetsabi Moetsabi, a poet of note), Lovemore Banda (later Lovemore Blunder of ZTV fame), Thomas Deve (he of the Daily News and MISA) and others who I forget ... and mina of course.

The story goes… that we decided on some division of labour. Someone had to do the artwork which included cover design, illustrations and of course the cartoons. I volunteered and the rest they say is history? Not quite! I was not comfortable in revealing my identity yet. Some of the cartoons were quite acerbic. People on campus had the tendency of taking the law into their hands. And blows were traded liberally like mopane worms in the DRC.

I imagined an Arts company and what it would be called. I though of how my name Lenox could be disguised. Being brought up on a diet of Student’s Companion, it did not take me long. Lenox is from Leo, which is Lion. A lion denotes bravery and many other things. I then though of appending the word ‘graphics’ but it somehow looked too plain. You see I had this Rasta-reggae background whose stock in trade was turning the Queen’s language upside-down.

On campus, I was a member (and later secretary general) of an organization known as the Society for Afrikan Studies. We were decidedly African in outlook but labeled mbanje (marijuana) smokers buy others. Well, Zimbabwe is a free country and everyone is allowed to have his own opinion. In the event I then decided to ‘Afrikanise’ the word and Graffiks with two f's came up. So below every illustration, cartoon and design (I also did T-shirts and logos) I produced was appended the tag ‘Lion Graffiks.’

Be that as it may, my identity was not secret for long. When the magazine was banned long before the Daily News (it had to be because it caused the authorities sleepless nights) I continued drawing cartoons and sticking them outside my room door. I enjoyed listening to the guffaws and comments as a steady flow of students oggled at the latest caricatures. Comments like, “Ende mufana uyu anopenga chayizvo chayizvo - uyahlanya sbili!” (He is very very crazy) were quite common.

It so happens that I was also an above average soccer player, packing a wicked defense for Burning Spear Football club in the University Soccer League. We scooped the league and Chancellor’s Cup on countless occasions. My teammates shortened my tag to ‘Graffiks’, which in a strange sort of way described the way I ploughed into the opposition’s strike force and won many an aerial tussle with my trademark explosive clearences. The multitude of fans (among which the female sex were a notable component) would shout ‘Graffiks!’ each time I performed a heroic (read suicidal) sliding tackle. I have enough evidence to show from those heady days of short lived fame. At least I came out of it with a wife!

So there you are, to this day my close pals at Amavevane Social Football club and elsewhere still call me by that name and I can bet you most are amazed as you are of its origin. Now that explains Graffiks On the Net which literally means Lenox on the Internet. Now that you know, lets get on with life. Oh, you might ask, what ever happened to my artistic talent? I usually explain it this way: At UZ I was sufficiently and persistently inspired to graffikally express myself...but when I went out into the real world that was and still is so depressing, silly and so forth and so forth, I then resorted to writing silly columns in newspapers. Which also explains the existance of this silly blog. Silly me.

What is a Blog, by the way?
Blog is short for weblog. A weblog is an online journal that is frequently updated and intended for general public consumption. Blogs generally represent the personality of the author or the Web site. Which is my case should be called a silly log. With apologies to the Ministry of the Environment and the Creator.

WILL I WRITE FOR THEM AGAIN...EVER?

I just had to write about what is going on in Zimbabwe. Aside: The newly appointed editor of the Chronicle, Makuwerere Bwititi phoned me two weeks ago, just barely a few seconds after he had taken the hot seat. He wondered whether I would revive my "On The Lighter Side Column" for his paper on Saturdays. My instinct was ask to see the colour of his money first. But then I thought: Let me ask him what had really changed at the Chronicle apart from a brief episode of musical chairs so typical when new Ministers of Information took over after a reshuffle.

Heads are know to roll and this time is no exception. Jokonya has replaced Jonathan (Moyo) and he is being touted as a liberal in as far as excessive media control is concerned. Him being a former diplomat and all that jazz. Personally I am yet to see a noticeable mellowing of sorts in the State Media apart from perhaps a dilution of the 100% local music content demanded during the Hondo Yeminda days.

The Chronicle is as rabid as ever. Writing for them would be endorsing the status quo and that would be against the best of my conscience. It is for similar reasons that I have constantly turned down overtures from SFM to revive Afro Jazz on Thursday show on radio. I would rue my show emerging after that steady stream of propaganda masquarading as news.

The Chronicle continues to issue blinkered opinion pieces and cliche infested political commentary passing off as journalism. Take for example Zimbabwe's long running fuel crisis. Nowhere do you see an article putting the powers that be to task about solutions to the problem. Instead, you read about 300 million litres of fuel "currently on the high seas" on its way to quench a patched and paralysed transport sector. Never mind the fact that Zimbabwe needs at least 2 million litres a day just to break even.

One cannot help but imagine a situation where that consignment is highjacked and diverted to Sri lanka as happened some years ago with a some shady amarments that were destined for the Indian Peninsula. They ended up in the gleeful hands of the Tigers of Tamil guerrilas who than proceeded to use them to good effect against the intended receipients! It would not be beyond the state media to cook up a story about the British fleet diverting those supplies to Papau new Guinea for all we know.

I also remember quite vividly MDC Secretary General Welshman KaNcube wondering why I was still broadcasting. adn't I heard of a thing called blacklisting? Not wanting to spent the rest of my life wondering in the confines of my garden unable to move anywhere, I promptly resigned. Never mind the fact that it would have been a matter of time before Jonathan Moyo and his cohorts forced the Hondo Yeminda diet of songs down my Jazz programme's line up.

My brief stint with the managerially-challenged but now banned "Weekly Times" at the beginning of the year should have firmly placed my name at the top of Mahoso's most wanted list. But no. Here are guys from the state media falling over themselves to get me back. I will post my diatribes from that brief era of protest journalism for you to make your own judgement.

I would rather be poor and insignificant, than be well known but revilled. Just ask Jonathan Moyo how he feels now. So the next time you ask me why I no longer write or broadcast...now you know.

THERE WAS A RAT IN OUR KITCHEN... ONCE

I don’t know what you think but having a pet, a vicious one at that is a necessity nowadays. That would obviously translate into the canine variety…in other words, a dog, very big dog for that matter. The more sadistic ones would rather keep Lions. With thieves ruling the roost in the suburbs, it has become more than a necessity. After a spate of break-ins we purchased the latest addition to the family. It came in the form of ‘Fluffy,’ a ball of black and khaki fur that could barely scare a fly. The reasoning, nevertheless a bit warped, was that Fluffy would grow into the job.

Our family has a chequered history of owning pets, some, I must add, quite involuntarily. We once had a rat in our kitchen. It must have been a rat because our then six-year-old Anele had announced that he had seen a mouse that hadn’t had a bath. The rat in question placed the family in a dilemma. We were faced with two choices. Either to bait him with rat poison and send him straight to rat hell or just to pretend he was part of the family. And adjust food budget accordingly of course.

The first option was easier but then there was the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Rats to contend with in the form of our three sons. You see this rat was so big that he just could be classified as a pet. It was so big that the kids concluded unanimously that it was a rabbit. And you should have heard the wails of protest as I chased it around the house with malicious intent. My argument was that being the breadwinner; I could never get to make drastic cuts to my monthly beer allocation.

The other option was to upgrade the pest to pet status. That meant coming up with some gentleman’s agreement with the rat in question. Firstly, he had to agree to being a gentle-rat and stop causing havoc in the kitchen. Secondly, the rat would have to adjust its diet somewhat to decent food and not my magazine collection and container of opaque sorghum beer (masese) in the pantry. Unfortunately the so-called rat-rabbit (as evidently opposed to calling him a rock-rabbit) had developed expensive tastes, which explained his weight problem.

The other dilemma was the many a sleepless nights that the rat-rabbit’s nocturnal activities caused. Because of its size, it could no longer sneak out through the tiny hole it came in. So in the dead of the night, one could hear it burrowing away. It was a if it had lost direction burrowing through any wooden surface he comes across. At one point I thought it had discovered my centuries old vinyl record collection. Remember those flat, black, round objects that made music when you set an electrified needle on them?

In the end, quite sadly, some very painful choices had to be made. Would we commit murder most foul and break our kid’s little hearts, or swallow our stingy pride and elevate the rat-rabbit to pet status? I personally preferred a hunting dog having come from a long line of poachers… sorry… hunters. At the time it was a luxury we could ill afford. That’s besides the fact that someone would have to clean up the dog poo. In any case, of what use would be a pet rat that did nothing but eat and poo all day long? I am yet to see a guard rat, granted the mere sight of this chap would surely keep those pesky uninvited relatives at bay.

Relative One: “ Did you catch sight of how big that rat, rabbit, thing or whatever was?”
Relative Two: “I thought I heard it bark!”
Relative Three: “I think I heard ‘them’ calling it by name!”
Relative Four: “We might be strange but these people take the cup. I don’t know about you but I’m out of here!”

Which brings us to our cute Fluffy, the cross Alsatian puppy. Its first act of heroism was to accompany the latest gang of burglars to the back door where they patted him lovingly on the head and made off with our stereo. Just let them come back in three years time, and Fluffy Wuffy will be sure to bite a chunk off their depraved backsides before they grab our Multichoice decoder! Woof grrrrr woof!

THE RAT AND THE MOUSE TRAP

A friend told me this story just yesterday. It is said a farmer discovered that there was a rat in the house and proceeded to set a mouse trap. Alarmed, the rat ran to the chicken to announce this disturbing development.

"But what has that got to do with me? I am not a rat..." the chicken said dismissing the rat and going about her pecking chores.

The rat then went to the pig to tell him him the grave news and got a similar reception. The pig was not bothered, proceeding to roll in the mud as usual. The rodent then approached the cow.

"What? A trap? What's that got to do with me?" and the cow went on grazing as she usually did, minding her own business.

It so happened that at night the trap went off and the farmer's wife went over to investigate. It was dark in the room but she still reached over and lo and behold she was bitten by a snake whose tail was caught in the trap! The farmer immediately rushed her off to hospital where her condition was diagnosed as critical.

Neighbours heard about the misfortune and went over to the farmer's house to comfort him. Having received visitors, he had to prepare them a meal and he went for the chicken.

As time went on the wife's condition worsened and relatives from far and wide came to the farmer's house. To feed them he had no choice but to slaughter the the pig.

Sadly, the farmer's wife eventually passed away and a huge funeral took place. All the farmer's neighbours, relatives and friends came to pay their last respects. The cow had to go to feed the multitude. The rat survived.

The moral of the story is that what doesn't seem to matter at face value will eventually affect you in a big way later on. Take note of the little things in life because when added up they contribute to a much bigger picture. This blog might seem much, but it is my small contribution to you. May it add value to your life in a big way by bringing some form of relief from all the pressures associated with this wretched existence of ours. Welcome to Graffiks On the Net!