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“But we have Hashim Amla, AB De Villiers, Faf Du Plessis.” Julius Malema said. “We have nothing to worry about.”
“No Comrade Malema.” Floyd Shivambu said, leaning forward at the table. “Not e’bowler. Ebola. It is a disease.”
“Nonsense Comrade Shivambu. There is no word for Ebola in the Pedi language. So it does not exist.”
Julius Malema, Floyd Shivambu and a handful of other EFF elite sat around the large dinner table. Before them, in large white plates, were thick cuts of succulent rump steak, with a side of grilled vegetables and mashed potatoes.
“But, let’s not talk about cricket now,” said Malema, cutting off a juicy piece of meat and chewing it. “We must not take our eyes off of the poor. It is so upsetting, Comrades, it almost makes me lose my appetite. Service delivery is so poor, that there were some townships that didn’t even feel that tremor.”
“Tremor?” Floyd Shivambu took a sip from his glass of Johnnie Walker, Blue Label whiskey. “I heard it was just Khulubuse Zuma doing a jumping jack.”
Julius took a sip of his own whiskey. “It could have been. It is still a shame about Thailand in 2004. Who could have guessed that Khulubuse going to Durban would have been so devastating? Those poor people.” There was a red bereted nod in unison from those around the dinner table. “And speaking of poor people, we must remember Comrades, that they are who we are fighting for. We must make sure we understand and feel their pain. And their suffering. If they have no bread to eat, then we won’t eat bread. If they have no clean water to drink, then we won’t drink water. Comrade Ramakatsa!” Julius Malema slammed his hand on the table in anger at Mpho Ramakatsa. “Take that ice cube out of your Jameson. That counts as water.”
After dinner and a dessert of Italian White Truffles and Macaroons Haute Couture, they retired to Julius Malema’s recreation room, for a game of FIFA 14 on his Playstation 4.
He had just put the disc in, when Fikile Mbalula manifested out of thin air. The minister of sport looked around at his surroundings, a little confused, then focused on Julius Malema.
“How dare you Julius.” He hissed. “You know that any time, anybody does anything involving sport, I will be there. So now, I am here….but there are no video cameras. Shame on you. And I almost brought Beyonce with me.”
“But how, Comrade Mbalula, you are like the Candyman.” Julius Malema laughed. “Come, play with me.”
“Sure. No problem.” He took a seat on the plush leather couch next to the EFF leader and looked at the ginormous television. “As long as I can be Bafana Bafana.”
The two men looked at each other…then burst out laughing. “Just kidding. Make me Spain.”
“I hear your boss is in America complaining that Obama must give him more money.”
Mbalula nodded. “Yeah. He wants to put in a fire koi pond and a fire waterfall.”
“So who is looking after his fire cattle and fire chickens?”
“Not to worry,” Fikile pressed the X button on the control to start the game. “Comrade Tandi Modise is. Game on.”
