Vote For Me and See What You Get For Free!

Greetings my fellow Zimbabweans.

As you know, today you will go to the polls and vote for me to remain your leader. It is not in your interests to even consider voting for anyone else. Only I can save you and what is left of your family from being colonised again. Imagine, you would have to work for a pittance and take orders from a White ‘Baas’ who would beat you and have sex with your wife at anytime.

Since I have been in charge, more than 80% of you now no longer have to work! Soon we will emulate successful lands such as the very Democratic Republic of the Congo, where they have worked so hard to make sure that 99% of their population no longer have to work. I and my politburo members have to work of course. Such is our burden of responsibility, but we do so with joy in our hearts, as we know our efforts reap joy and happiness among you all.

Because of our brilliant economic plans, there is no need for most of you to get up early in the morning to go to work. Now you can just ‘hang around’ waiting for handouts. Today, because it is such a special day, I have decided to give all of you presents of grandiose abundance. All you have to do is simply click on the gift and save it to use at any time you like.

We all love a good fry-up, so please except this traditional Zimbabwean breakfast dish (the British imperialists stole the recipe, just like they did in India with the curry) -

You need to drive to the polling station? Please, here, have a Rolls Royce. (You can keep the plane as well.) These were made in Zimbabwe before the arrival of the British land thieves who stole the factory and shipped it to their mud island -

You want a new farm? There are plenty to be had now we took them back, click as many times as you like -

Short of a few Bob? (ha ha, excuse the pun), want to go shopping and need some coin?

Click here -

Tired of cooking? Need a Cook-boy? Well we no longer use that derogative racist term. We call them Chink-boy now. Here, click a Chinkie or two, every well run African land should have several millions of them. Very useful, they even come with their own plastic bags! -

Should you be a complete simpleton and still insist on voting for one of the other pretenders, then you better get a tire which my boys will set alight so you will look like one of these sell-outs –

Finally, I recommend a book by Tim Butcher called Blood River. He recently travelled the entire length of the Congo River and reported of the incredible achievement of the government there who have managed to put the clock back to a time before there were any. If you go to his website

www.bloodriver.co.uk

there are some wonderful pictures of the unique system of African reverse progress.

This is it, or is it?

Reading all the blah blah available and watching some of the limited coverage on TV leading up to today’s election, one wonders why Mugabe even bothers.

The old fart rants that should he sort of lose, which is theoretically impossible, he won’t accept the result, nor will his commanders of the army or the police. If he then wins as predicted, all his best mates (leaders of other dodgy regimes), will rush to congratulate him, giving him his tiny mantle of legitimacy, and the status quo remains.

But, and it is a big but, what will happen if the locals actually decide to kick-up if they decide that they have been robbed yet again and face more of the same? That is the big question.

Let us see what happens tomorrow and the next few days.

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I have been away, thus the lack of postings. Sorry about that but there will be a few coming in the next few days.

$750.000 Dollars To Be WON!

Yes people, I am willing to give back to my readers something that they have given me; mainly, not a lot!

I have decided to run a competition. The first prize is an amazing three quarters of a million dollars! All you have to do to claim your prize is to win the competition. That way I eliminate the losers. To win is very simple but you need to be clever, so it is not clever to enter the competition if you’re a bit simple.

If you look at the right hand column you will see a green counter. Every time some one takes a peep at this brilliant blog, it registers them and the number goes up. Well, soon it will reach the artistic merit of 22222, so whoever is that one, two two two two two… er… two, gets the prize. To prove this (and I tried it out, so it works) highlight the counter, save the image, and send it to me in an email ( lore-data@hotmail.com) with a maximum word count of 100, as to why I should give you the prize. (Winning comment will be put up on my blog along with a picture of the winner with his wad of cash, should he send me one.) Please note that thanks to Google analytics, I can see any daft twats who decide to keep clicking till they reach the number. Should that be the case, I will disqualify anyone doing more than 5 hits a day.

Just in case you may start to get very excited, I would like to point out that your prize is a brand new, hot off the press, Zimbabwean 750,000 dollar note that is, at today’s rate, worth about 3 British Pence. The stamp will cost me more!

The competition is genuine and I will post the prize.

The Gokwe Kid Strikes Again

How someone’s innocent search for a DVD film caused uproar in the art world.

Ooh – I was planning on posting some other stuff, but it can wait, as I have sensational news! Yes, little me, the infamous Gokwe Kid, the greatest bush detective ever, has unearthed a scandal of all scandals!

Regular readers (if I have any), may recall that I was checking out the Tate Modern art gallery a short while ago. Who cares, you might say!

Anyway, in the cellar, they got this giant crack in the floor. Now, it cost serious money to put it in there. Last year, some artistic Brazilian genius was given some serious bucks (tax-payers, by the way), to create this.

(Hey, you lot. Give me a tenner each, you can come have a look at the cracks in my ceiling. Women only!)

So far, so good – what’s the big fucking deal about a crack in the floor, besides it must have cost £1000 a foot? Very simple, I, through my pure genius of detection, think the whole thing is a sham! Okay, I admit that when I went and looked at it, I was seriously tempted to deposit the wrapping from my POLO sugar-free sweets in it, but was put off by the amount of refuse already in there. The point I am desperately trying to make; is that I think, the giant crack was plagiarised.

In other words, the Tate gallery fell into a very expensive void which was about as original as Hot Cross buns with an extra 25% more currents for free. How do I know this? Well, that’s another story. It all started, long, long time ago…

Once upon a time, in Zimbabwe, my step-mother, along with her late husband, supplemented her income by being a movie extra. One day, a movie company decides that riding the anti-apartheid ticket was always good for a few bucks and seeing that Zimbabwe was sort of like South Africa (having lots of black people living in huts and a few whites living in mansions), they went there in 1989 and made a film call A Dry White Season. Based on the 1979 novel by Andre Brink, it starred Donald Sutherland and a cast that includes sexy kitten Susan Sarandon (Tell us about it Janet!) and Marlon Brando. The story is the usual genre – Blackman good, whiteman evil etc and all bundled up in the millenniums favourite word; Racism.

My Mom was head of history at the exclusive, private St Georges college in Harare at the time. That’s the same one where Peter Godwin went. Most of her pupils, right up until she ended teaching last year actually, were black. The sixth form whites were also used as extras, popped in South African Police uniforms and had a merry time running around kicking in the doors of black peoples huts. There is one scene where Donald is at a rugby match. The camera zooms up on him in the spectators stands and for a few seconds there are Mom and her husband standing behind him chatting! Great stuff. As Mom will be arriving any day now, having had to flee Robb’in Bob the Hood’s madness for a while, I thought it would be cool to get a copy of the film. That way we can both weep over the locations that were once called home. Sniff, shed a few tears.

Unfortunately, there aren’t any DVD cheepies up on Ebay at the moment, so it will have to wait. I have a taped copy from long time ago, but it is in German.

BUT, what has this to do with the crack in the floor? Well according to the blah blah on the Tate’s own website (So read on, you are going to learn something.) –

Doris Salcedo’s Shibboleth is the first work to intervene directly in the fabric of the Turbine Hall. Rather than fill this iconic space with a conventional sculpture or installation, Salcedo has created a subterranean chasm that stretches the length of the Turbine Hall. The concrete walls of the crevice are ruptured by a steel mesh fence, creating a tension between these elements that resist yet depend on one another. By making the floor the principal focus of her project, Salcedo dramatically shifts our perception of the Turbine Hall’s architecture, subtly subverting its claims to monumentality and grandeur. Shibboleth asks questions about the interaction of sculpture and space, about architecture and the values it enshrines, and about the shaky ideological foundations on which Western notions of modernity are built.

In particular, Salcedo is addressing a long legacy of racism and colonialism that underlies the modern world. A ‘shibboleth’ is a custom, phrase or use of language that acts as a test of belonging to a particular social group or class. By definition, it is used to exclude those deemed unsuitable to join this group.

‘The history of racism’, Salcedo writes, ‘runs parallel to the history of modernity, and is its untold dark side’. For hundreds of years, Western ideas of progress and prosperity have been underpinned by colonial exploitation and the withdrawal of basic rights from others. Our own time, Salcedo is keen to remind us, remains defined by the existence of a huge socially excluded underclass, in Western as well as post-colonial societies.

In breaking open the floor of the museum, Salcedo is exposing a fracture in modernity itself. Her work encourages us to confront uncomfortable truths about our history and about ourselves with absolute candidness, and without self-deception.

So, did you get that? It is all about ‘a long legacy of racism and colonialism’. Any bells ringing yet! So let’s presume that Salcedo wakes up one morning and says

‘Blow me down with a feather, why don’t we dig a huge black crack in a white floor and persuade everyone its all about bad white people.’

And the art world yanks at its hair, grovels to the floor and pronounces the entire concept one of pure inspirational genius. The price tag is so horrendous; it just has to be the ultimate in modern art. Think about it, most people pay to get cracks like that filled in!

OR IS IT?

I don’t think Salcedo thought up anything artistic. Someone has done it before! All Salcedo had to do was steal the concept from the original art work and pay some Polish labourers a few pounds to dig a crack and pocket the rest. The actual explanation for the work of art has also been given to her. Yup, you guessed it – A Dry White Season.

I discovered, whilst looking for the film, several copies of the book. But it is the hardcover version printed in September 1979 by publishers WH Allen, that really blew my mind. Without actually buying the book, I don’t know who did the art work for the dust cover, but…take a look at this!

There you go then. Who do I turn too? How can I profit from all this?

Friends, Countrymen and Fellow morons – lend me your beers!

I should be concentrating on proper things but just don’t seem able to at the moment. I am being constantly harassed by people with demands that unless I pull my finger out, I will be going nowhere. I find this rather strange because I hadn’t intended going anywhere anyway! I don’t actually have my finger up my arse; it’s up my right nostril! This is a very African tradition and is still used today whenever someone is confronted with a tricky question, such as

‘Why have you run over the cat with the lawn mower?’

Rather than tell the truth, the person questioned would place a finger in a nostril, gaze into the sky, and say,

‘Hoomba’,

in a sort of tone suggesting neither an answer nor an explanation. At this point the questioner would normally give up.

This is all beside the point. In an effort to expand my mind in a more academic approach than through tins of Carlsberg lager, I have signed onto another Open University course. It is called An Introduction to the Humanities. I realised I was in for trouble when I saw the mountain of stuff I am supposed to read, digest, comprehend and regurgitate in such a way as to prove I have some vague inkling what it is all about. I promptly had panic attacks and spent several mornings vomiting in the wash basin before I plucked up the courage to have a peep.

First bit is about art. Well, paintings actually. The idea is that I will learn to appreciate the difference between a painting costing £2 in a charity shop or one from Christies costing £2 million. Actually I always knew the answer to that one. It’s very simple. The £2 picture is the one you bought because you liked it and the £2 million one is the one you bought (presuming you have that amount of money lying around), because other people like it.

Well I had to look at a colour plate of a painting by Picasso and presuming that I have understood the course material so far, I could give a very good analysis of it.

The particular painting is called Girl in a Chemise. Amazingly, it turns out the thing is hanging up in the Tate Gallery in London, and entry was free! Perfect, so as I happened to be in London for a short visit to catch up on some serious drinking with a few pals, I zipped off to the place. Quite an experience I tell you. I got out at London Bridge underground and was thoroughly lost within seconds, but a kind chap showed me the way and because it turned out he had been born in South Africa I rewarded him with a pinch of the Piri-Piri biltong I had purchased at said underground for an astronomical price.

I hadn’t been around that part of town for a while and although the weather wasn’t actually at its finest, the sights are rather awesome. HMS Belfast, London bridge (the one the stupid Yanks thought they had bought), Millennium bridge (now no longer swaying), St Paul’s, Sir Francis Drake’s Golden Hind; it was just so cool! The Tate Modern is huge and I was rapidly running out of time. So I dashed up to the right floor, found the painting and stood there looking at it and attempted to draw up all my newly learnt skills. Now, as you might have noticed, I have put a picture of this painting at the top of this posting. Maybe take another good look, because guess what? My first reaction, which had me start to break down in hysterical giggles was this…

Amazing, Picasso was the first person to draw Beavis! In 1905! Sigh, I think I am really going to struggle on this course. Before having to dash, I had a look at the crack in ground floor. There must be some serious subsiding to get a crack that big! I don’t know why they haven’t filled it in yet because it is rather dangerous with all the people walking around!

Trying to find the nearest underground, I wandered over the Millennium Bridge, and turned left down Queen Victoria street. I suddenly had this urge to drop a coil and luckily for me there was a public toilet nearby. Sadly it is not very clean; in fact, the place was full of shit! I was forced to find a clear spot in the entrance hall. I took a photo of the front door, so anyone coming to London can be aware of the filthy place!

To wrap up today’s silly posting, I have been occasionally trying to help out my pal Rob who is doing his best to save the planet via Facebook with his Eco-Brigade. Members are signing up fast and furious with almost 1100 people joined but not many of them really having a clue what it is all about! That includes me, but never mind, any contribution that might help us from self extinction just has to be good.

I thought up this novel idea...

Here is a new and really sharp tip on how to save our planet. You do of course realise there are two ways to do this. The passive way, such as wiping your bum with recycled newspapers or the aggressive way, one of which is today’s example. We all hate the Japanese for slaughtering whales in the name of research, so why don’t we do the same! Spearing any old Jap won’t do the trick, you have to go for the rarer species; such as diplomats. All you need is a spear, a sharp fish filleting knife and a large placard displaying - ‘I am now cutting his innards out to scientifically examine them.’ Then simply spear one as it comes out of the embassy for a quick fag and as it flops, pumping blood all over the pavement, start opening him up with the knife whilst waving the placard about and shouting, ‘I do this for the embitterment of mankind’s knowledge of what makes a Japsy tick’.

Next week we will talk about whether foxes should wear fur coats.

I didn’t make this up – it’s impossible!

Zimbabwe is now producing headlines that are definitely stranger than fiction.

Reading through the last few days of the reports posted on the website www.zimbabwesituation, you get a feeling that it would be impossible to make the stuff up.

We have riots in church as a disposed bishop aligned to Mugabe refused to be deposed and used ‘bully boys’ to beat up the congregation –

The Anglican Church in Zimbabwe is beset by devilish behaviour, which has seen ousted Bishop Nolbert Kunonga barricade the cathedral and assault worshippers who do not support him.

All this has to do with money of course, but…
There are banks that have no money because they can’t afford to pick up the new notes from the Reserve bank, but know one is sure whether they have any either.

Because of inflation, now sort of between 68 and 150 thousand percent (snigger, how you get your head around this, I have no idea), they decide to print bigger notes, but because they got next to no ink or paper, there isn’t much of them around. Rumours are that there is a 10.000,000 (ten million) dollar note.

Zimbabwe has joined the crusade of doling out larger denominated
notes. The $10 million note, introduced last month, is the largest note, not
only in Africa but in the world, which analysts say is embarrassing.

In fact, money is so rare in Zimbabwe that one place you can get it is on EBay! For example, if you enter the item number 110222191472the seller informs you that he has –

NEW $250000.00,$500000.00,AND $750000.00 NOTES WERE RELEASED AROUND XMAS TIME AND ARE VERY VERY HARD TO COME BY INDEED.

Although the three notes have a street value of approximately 8 British pence, at the time of this posting, he will let you have them for £20.00!

Another chap, with the amazing name of robbybob (Robbing Bob Mugabe perhaps?) item number - 330210749162is selling one 750,000 note and has bids so far up to and over £10.

Hah hah hah, this is incredible! Only this could happen in Zimbabwe!

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As you might have heard, there is suppose to be an election in March -

An unusually large number of newly-formed fringe political parties
have emerged since the beginning of the year, all promising to turn around
Zimbabwe’s fortunes once elected to power.

We have the United Democratic People’s Constitution (UDPC), Zimbabwe Integrated Party (ZIP), Voice of the People/Vox Populi (VP), the Zimbabwe Development Party (ZDP), Progressive Anarchy Party (PAP), Let’s Party (LP) etc etc.

The latest on the scene is - I Have No Party (IHNP), which, as we have just learnt, is run by a stray cat called Simba Mukoni. He is a brave little pussy taking on his old Boss Rob Mugabe. Makoni has already been officially declared a ‘sellout’ by the ‘war veterans. In Africa that word, ‘sellout’ is normally a death sentence. I wonder how long it will take before the former politburo member accidentally stalls his car on a railway crossing.

There might not even be an election in March. Well, not until terms have been well hammered out. I.E. - the shit hammered out anyone who has even a hint of upsetting the apple cart. Of course, pointing out that there are no apples in Zimbabwe to put in a cart is just western propaganda.

Just in case there is an election, Bob has been handing out loads of presents to the top boys in the police and army.

Zimbabwe’s police chief Augustine Chihuri this week told senior
officers to back President Robert Mugabe reminding them the veteran leader
had given them farms, resources and other perks, authoritative sources told
ZimOnline. According to our sources one officer, Nonkosi Ncube, who is in charge of police in Mashonaland East province, turned down a white truck she had been allocated insisting she preferred the truck black.
She was assured she would receive a car with the “right colour” next week
when middle-ranking police commanders would receive their vehicles.

Aah, such a crying shame huh..lol, and on the same date of postings we have this –

The World Food Program has scaled up its operations in troubled Zimbabwe
amid a deepening food crisis that threatens 4 million people with hunger and
starvation, the UN aid agency says.

And I also found this…

Kelly David, head of the UN Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA) in southern Africa, told IRIN.
"In Malawi, international partners are seeking about $17 million," OCHA
said, adding that flooding had hit 15 of the country's 28 districts,
affecting more than 152,000 people; over 700 cholera cases have been
reported so far and the situation would likely worsen in the coming weeks.
In Zambia $18.5 million was requested to assist 20,000 people, and in
Zimbabwe $15.8 million would be needed to help a further 15,000.”

No problemo, I am sure Bob Geldorf and Bono are writing out cheques this very moment!

Last but not least, they have had to open one of the sluice gates at Kariba to reduce the pressure. It will increase the flooding downstream, but I suppose it is better than the wall falling over. What amazed me was that they managed to scrape the power together to open it…

The Good and the Bad of Kenyans going Mad.

U.N. observers in their department which cover African genocide and wasting money on silly projects, report that machete deaths are lower than expected due to the use of Chinese Imports. Observers flown out to the troubled area, first class, met several of the peace loving tribes embroiled in what looked like post-colonial extended birthing pains.

A senior spokesman for the N’Bonga Slashers tribe, Innocent M’Killa, was quoted to tell them

‘The Chinky shit is useless. Very cheap but the blade is poor metal and the plastic handles snap whilst hacking legs off.’

He went on to demonstrate by striking one of the photographers on the head. Whilst it made an impressive slash, it failed to pass through the skull and the machete had a noticeable warping in the poor quality blade. Innocent M’Killa went on

‘See, he not dead. In the old days, when we were Mau-Mau and hack legs of White farmers’ wives off, we had locally made blades by Lewis Cohen and Brothers of Nairobi, but after we kick the colonial oppressors out, the firm moved to Israel. When we take over from this corrupt government, we will get them to come back. We will bribe them if necessary.’

Meanwhile, the animals in the national parks are grateful for the sudden drop in tourists arriving to gawk at them. Gono the Gnu explained that it is was pure hell being in the industry.

‘Every morning and early evening, the air is thick with dust as hundreds of mini-buses drive around full of bug-eyed charter tourists, with cheap cameras. Worse is when they entrap us. I lost my Auntie last year. The drivers work together and create a trap with some of us stuck in a circle of mini-busses with a pride of lions! It is worse than gladiators in the coliseum!'

The damage to the second highest industry supplying valuable foreign currency (the first is aid, but that mysteriously disappears to Switzerland), was more than apparent in Mombassa. Gigolos on Diani beach are complaining that the lack of overweight, middle-aged frustrated white women to service is giving them serious concern. Their spokesman, MaBigDik, said

‘I would have maybe 40-50 of da bitches a month, but now I am being forced to keep fit by fucking the monkeys and I am worried I might catch some bad disease.’

Sadly for Kenya, world interest to their problems have now been diverted to Chad, where the locals are hell bent on doing what they do best – run around killing people in the name of whatever. This is amazing when you consider that the possible next President of the USA was fathered by a man who once owned a goat in a Kenyan village.

……

When I read about the latest shenanigans in Chad, I was struck by some déjà vu. Okay, when it comes to Africa, they got more coup d'é·tat or take-overs etc., than we have tax increases, but I was sure I read recently about such an event that had me in tears; it was so tragic. After much searching, I found it and reproduce it in its entirety.

Rebels Immediately Regret Seizing Power In Zambia

LUSAKA, ZAMBIA—

Only hours after assuming control of the deeply troubled country in a bloody coup, members of the United Deliverance Front admitted Monday that they might have made a "huge mistake" by seizing power in Zambia.

After months of combat, the United Deliverance Front has this morning taken command of one of Africa's most beleaguered nations, installing itself as the supreme ruler over 11 million desperate, ailing, and angry citizens," UDF leader and new head of state Uwimana Kowrt said. "Dear Jesus, what the hell were we thinking?"

According to Kowry, who claimed that plans to overthrow the ruling administration "made sense at the time," celebration was cut short Monday morning when the victorious rebels realized that they were now in charge of a country crippled by drought and widespread food shortages.

"For years, we watched our beloved homeland suffer from strife and infirmity, knowing that something drastic had to be done," UDF second-in-command Ngoube Mtumbe said. "Why we decided that that something was to take over this godforsaken graveyard of a country instead of just getting the fuck out, I'll never know."

"We did not sign up for this," he added. "Seven-hundred-thousand AIDS orphans? Come on!"

Mtumbe, a UDF fighter with over 14 years of demolitions experience and nearly three hours of administrative practice, said that members of the rebellion were so caught up in the bloodthirsty struggle for power that they lost sight of what it would mean to be in power in a country as terrible as Zambia.

The fact that there wasn't a single standing railroad bridge, power station, or radio tower for us to destroy should have been a pretty clear sign that Zambia wasn't exactly the most stable of places," Mtumbe said. "Our supposed capitol building doesn't even have a front door, for crying out loud."

Mtumbe, who was trying to figure out what paperwork was necessary to declare a national state of emergency, said he was still kicking himself for killing countless U.N. peacekeepers well-acquainted with the complicated relief process, and for decapitating the Minister of Transportation, who was "obviously in that position for a reason."

The mood among UDF soldiers quickly worsened when they realized it was up to them to pick up the pieces after a very recent and destructive uprising.

"And to think we were so proud to catch government forces in [the city of] Harbel by surprise," UDF General Gahiji Boshoso said. "Those lucky bastards were probably just as relieved as they were shocked that anyone would want to be in charge of such a nightmarish wasteland. Even parts of Nigeria are better than this, and that's one of the worst countries on earth."

Added Boshoso: "Would it have killed us to take over Estonia instead—you know, a country with running water?"

Though the group went to the trouble of training an army of largely underage soldiers, purchasing military weapons on the black market, and steeling themselves for atrocities of war, many said they would never have gone through with the final assault had they realized just how dire the situation in Zambia was.

"After losing so many friends and family members, and ruthlessly slitting the throats of more innocent civilians than I can count, I expected my reward to be a little sweeter than this," said Kowry, who claimed that he wished dealing with the World Bank Food Program was as simple as assassinating former ruling-party loyalists. "None of the blood that covered our streets nor the carnage that choked our cities could have even remotely prepared us for these pathetic annual GDP figures."

"Frankly, we're amazed there was even a president to overthrow in the first place," he added. "All we can hope for now is that another band of utterly naïve rebels comes along to put us out of our misery."

Source – The Onion

http://www.theonion.com/content/node/56093

Tycoon Van Hoogstraten arrested in Zimbabwe

Good News From Zimbabwe!

It is rare to see a headline like this, but this is really good news. Okay – admittedly after you read the article about my dearest best friend (not), he won’t be spending much time in one of Mugabe’s jail, but still, it is nice to see the bastard squirm a bit.

This great news is being posted in most news web sites. I lifted this from the Observer. It makes great reading. It is also worth checking him out on wikipedia -

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nicholas_van_Hoogstraten

In 1968, at the age of 23, this piece of nasty work was reputed to be Britain’s youngest millionaire!

Mugabe apologist is accused of flouting currency exchange laws and possessing pornography

Jamie Doward
Sunday January 27, 2008

The Observer

The notorious property tycoon Nicholas van Hoogstraten has been arrested in Zimbabwe on charges of breaking the troubled country's currency exchange laws and possessing pornography.

The move is being seen in some quarters as part of a plan by Zimbabwean President Robert Mugabe to seize his once close supporter's multi-million-pound business empire, which spans mining, tourism and property interests.

Police detained Van Hoogstraten after a raid on his home last Thursday, charging him with collecting rent on his properties in foreign currency. Zimbabwean law prohibits the payment of foreign currency for local goods and services.

The arrest represents an astonishing reversal in fortunes for the multi-millionaire father-of-five, who divides his time between Zimbabwe and Hamilton Place, his half-built, £40m mansion in Sussex, from where he runs the British end of his empire. Van Hoogstraten, 62, has made much of his money in Zimbabwe, thanks to his close relationship with Mugabe's Zanu-PF party. He owns about 200 residential and business properties in Zimbabwe, according to the police, has significant investments on the Zimbabwe stock exchange, and reportedly owns an estimated 600,000 hectares in the country.

However, crippling inflation has sent Zimbabwe into political and economic turmoil. The country's central bank chief, Gideon Gono, recently blamed the crisis on 'cash barons', whom he accuses of hoarding Zimbabwean dollars and exchanging them for foreign currency.

According to the police, when arrested Van Hoogstraten was in possession of US$37,586, 92,880 South African rand and £190, as well as 20bn Zimbabwe dollars, worth around US$3,333 on the black market.

In what seems to have been a carefully orchestrated media operation by the authorities, news bulletins showed police parading Van Hoogstraten before state television cameras holding wads of money. 'Van Hoogstraten is being charged under the exchange control regulations for charging a service and dealing in foreign currency,' said Zimbabwean police spokesman Wayne Bvudzijena.

He added that the tycoon had demanded six months' rent in foreign currency from his tenants, one of whom had been an informant. 'The police informant had been asked to pay in the region of US$8,000,' Bvudzijena said, adding that the tycoon also faced charges linked to pornographic material found in his house. If found guilty, Van Hoogstraten will face a fine and be forced to hand over the foreign money, according to local media reports.

Until recently Van Hoogstraten was a firm supporter of Mugabe and has boasted of his close relationship with the President. He has said Mugabe was one of the first people to offer him congratulations on his release from prison after being jailed for manslaughter. He has also criticised newspaper reporting about the regime in Zimbabwe.

There was speculation last night that his arrest may have more to do with Zimbabwe's changing political landscape than his alleged currency violations. David Banks, a close observer of political developments in Zimbabwe, who has met Van Hoogstraten and advises MPs on the country's state of affairs, said it had always been a question of when, rather than whether, the tycoon fell out with Mugabe. 'This is a brutal dictator who murdered friends and colleagues when they threatened his grip on power, so why should he worry about what happens to Van Hoogstraten?' Banks asked.

With elections due in March, Van Hoogstraten's arrest was a political move designed to shore up Mugabe's position, Banks suggested. 'Mugabe is running out of patronage,' he said. 'There is a shortage of sweeteners he can offer to try to buy support. His arrest may signal Mugabe intends to start seizing Van Hoogstraten's assets.'

Van Hoogstraten's arrest is the latest in a long line of clashes with the law. In the Sixties Van Hoogstraten - who has referred to his tenants as 'scum' - was jailed for four years for arranging for a hand grenade to be thrown through the window of someone who owed him money. In 2002 he was convicted of manslaughter and sentenced to 10 years in jail after a business associate, Mohammed Raja, was shot and killed by two hired hitmen. He appealed against the conviction, which was overturned in 2003. In 2005 a civil court ordered that Van Hoogstraten pay the murdered man's family £6m in damages.

http://observer.guardian.co.uk/world/story/0,,2247693,00.html

A Mad Genius is Dead

Okay… Bobby lost his marbles a long time ago, but man oh man, could he play chess or what?

I rushed this together – a small tribute to someone who gave me so much excitement in 1972 when I was a kid playing chess.

Time Out!

Just an amazing quickie…

I have been watching on TV and reading on-line with great interest the run-up to the American Presidential elections. I came across an article which did some mud slinging about Bill Clinton’s old days and his habit of wanting to stuff as many voters (female) as possible with his own brand of political zeal. By following some of the sleaze, I blundered upon this YouTube. For the life of me, I cannot fathom the point of it!

My conclusion…Americans are seriously scary people! This film is a boxing contest between a woman who was prodded by Bill’s middle leg and a woman who tried to break a leg of her closest rival. This is so bizarre!

Tonya Harding vs Paula Jones

Jumbos, then and now.

Sitting in the delayed plane at Heathrow, as I peered through dense fog outside the window, noting the shivering deported asylum seekers strapped to the wings, my thoughts wandered to the early ‘70s when I first flew in one of these monsters of the skys…

I was a small kid going to see Mummy in the UK. In those days it took ages to book, pay and get a ticket. I think my Father had to book almost a year in advance. There would be all sorts of paper work involving foreign currency allowances etc, but one day the tickets would be there to be picked up. They were really impressive. A thin little book, full of flimsy sheets of paper, all with red carbon on the back.

Then the day would come and the whole family traipsed to Salisbury airport to see me off. Checking in was a breeze. No security scans, no daft questions, no men with lollipops checking your genitals. In fact, time and mad Arabs have reversed everything. Now you can book online in seconds but need hours to actually get on the plane. In the early ‘70s it was all so romantic. After checking in the luggage the family would go up to the ‘observation’ balcony. There we could gaze down on the brand new Boeing 747 of South African Airways and smell the fumes of avgas whilst I sipped a rare glass of coke and my parents drank tea. Then the flight would be announced and I would pass swiftly through customs and immigration, walk across the tarmac and board the monster.

I remember that first trip on the Jumbo very well because I was the kid from hell! Using my natural charm (whinging, moaning and wailing), I was allowed to check out the cockpit, wander around First Class, including a visit ‘up-stairs’ and after much yowling, was escorted through the duty-free at Jan Smuts airport (the plane first went back to SA), to purchase huge amounts of chocolate. Back on board, I was forced to part reluctantly with £1 for a pair of earphones to listen to the on-board entertainment. This was a real con. The music was piped. The ear phones were nothing more than hollow plastic tubes you stuck in the armrest and the other end in your ears. You were also supposed to give them back! No chance of that. In fact I managed to thieve three more pairs which I flogged for 50 pence each to my fellow inmates on the return trip.

There was plenty to keep me entertained. Between wolfing down copious amounts of chocolate, I made frequent visits to the toilets. Inside were loads of plastic bottles of fancy stuff like Ode-To-The Toilet, Channel 69 stinky stuff, little bars of soap with the cool SAA springbok logo, hand creams, face creams, all beautifully embossed. I thieved the lot! My hand luggage under the seat was bulging. If I had had more space I would have taken the cool looking life jacket as well.

The service was excellent. Every few minutes I would push one of the buttons on the armrest and a white servant would appear to take yet another order for a tin of coke. I poured the stuff down my neck as fast as they could be delivered. Dinner was superb. A lovely huge chunk of steak, but things went slightly wrong in the middle of the mid-flight film. I even recall what it was. 40 Carats It was about some old hag messing about with some young dago, when suddenly, without warning - I vomited. Buckets of the stuff! Coke, steak and chocolate streamed out, all over the seat in front and all over me. I had a huge stinking puddle of the muck filling my lap, with partly digested lumps of steak bobbing around like fishing corks. I landed up moaning in pain, stretched out on the floor by an emergency exit. The servants flatly refused to wash my trousers and I had to try and clean them up in the tiny sink, where much to my disgust, I discovered some bastard had stolen all the soap!

Well, 36 years later, here I was in another giant vomit bucket, but I wasn’t feeling sick – this time I was shitting myself with fear and people could smell it. Heathrow is stuck bang in the middle of west London. If the plane runs out of runway, it ploughs into enough houses to make way for the new Olympic stadium. Not like the runway in Salisbury all those years ago. Did you know, that at that time Salisbury airport was the longest in the world? The story goes that SAA phoned the airport and told them that if they wanted the new Jumbo to land there, they would have to extend the runway. The bloke on the phone in Salisbury said it would not be a problem, but after hanging up realised that he had forgotten to ask exactly how long it should be.

Too embarrassed to phone back, he hazarded a guess and reckoned a couple miles should do it. In fact, when they finally ran out of tar to lay, at an amazing 15502 feet (2.9 miles!) it went into the Guinness Book of Records as the longest civil runway in the world that no one had any use for. I also recall that in the same edition, Rhodesia also had the world record for the largest farm, somewhere in the lowfeld, where every cow had about 200 acres to get lost in.

Anyway, Dec 2007, back in the giant sardine can, the plane just went on and on and on. The engines were screaming, I was farting and after what seemed an eternity, the thing finally lumbered up, grazing half a dozen chimneys in the process….

The headphones were free this time but not worth stealing. The movie selection was impressive but sadly blew up in the middle of watching Casino Royale…

To be continued

Here is the next YouTube from Nambia.

Finally, to end today’s posting, I have been asked to tell you about my mate Robert Fowler and his ambition to change the world whilst based in his newly purchased lodge in Victoria Falls. He wants to revolutionise tourism by making it eco-friendly. This he has decided to do via Facebook. So if you use Facebook, search for Ben Gula's Eco-Brigade

Quite a few people have joined. There is a rather disturbing video about ‘canned’ hunting.

Next thing is to try and arrange some free lodgings at his pad. It looks quite cool.

Planes, Trains and Automobiles

What an end and start from one year to another! It seems to have been some time since I last wrote anything. One reason was writer’s fatigue, combined with a dash of blockage and wrapped up in a classical Bavarian diagnosis of the dreaded Nullbock-a-rissmuss disease. For those unacquainted with the dialect of the southern Germans, it means, Cant-be-arsed.

But now I return from scribblers’ paralysis to plague your brain cells with wonders of witless words, guaranteed to shift all that undigested Xmas puddings that are still putrefying in your lower gut. Hopefully you all had a wonderful festive season, drowning your sorrows with credit card subsidised alcohol, I had no such luck. Will 2008 be a better year? Better than what? I suppose you could think of your worst year of your life ever, and then say, ‘Well, I do hope that despite the forthcoming divorce, the house repossession, the courts appearance for tax evasion and the ever increasing unlikeness that the national health service will supply me with a liver transplant within the next 300 days; 2008 will surely be better than 1967 - as that was the year I ran over my pet rat with my bicycle.’

Look at the mystery picture below. Who is that man and what is his name? That bit is easy, because that is little me! But, where am I? Aah, welcome to the magical mystery tour. From the mental wasters of Northern Wales to the Desert wastes of Namibia, Southern Africa, I have been on adventures galore and even saw some pussies. Lions, that is, and best of all – I got pictures of places where even flies don’t bother going on holiday to.

To get there and back, I had to use planes, trains and automobiles. Just like the hilarious classic of that name, with Steve Martin and John Candy, my trip was plagued with misadventures and the occasional NBF. Just like in the movie, I attract New Best Friends (NBF) like starving Dafurian children attract flies to their dripping nostrils in every footage we see coming out of the place. (Jeez, let’s kick start the year with some serious anti-pc). I can’t help it! Every boring, lonesome loser homes on to me like I’m the best thing since the Salvation Army gave out tokens for the off-licence instead of pisshead’s soup. You know the type. As soon as you mistakenly make eye contact they pounce and inundate you with questions and have body language reminiscent to Michael Jackson watching a Johnson’s Baby Oil advert.

Another thing that is almost as annoying as having a NBF, is to suffer from LSQ syndrome. I have all my life and it is incurable. Long Short Queue syndrome afflicts the tiny percent of the population who will sweat buckets scanning and struggling through masses of people (like at Heathrow Airport) looking for the shortest queue to check-in , grin triumphantly around at having found it, and one hour later go into cardiac arrest as you realise your flight has been called and the queue you are standing in is being served by the winner of this years Rip Wan Winkle award for sleeping on the job whilst pretending to look busy. This is whilst your NBF behind you is trying to impress you with his knowledge of Wales by explaining that he was stationed once, in the early ‘70s, in Portmadog with the navy. This is highly unlikely as the place is barely big enough for a train station and the only navy I have seen in the place was on the side of a bottle of rum in the pub.

Well, actually, the bloke behind me in the queue at Munich airport on the 22^nd December was actually a rather witty individual. (The really bad NBF comes later.) An American, married to an Italian, flying to Milan for Xmas and flight delayed. Me? My flight back to London, after visiting the kids, had been cancelled. The Krauts pushed the blame onto the Tommies. ‘Zee having zee bad fock in Hit-row’, said the nice blonde, blue eyed supreme being, who reminded me of an Ayron poster pin-up for the Deutsche version of Brokeback Mountain , at Lufthansa passenger service desk. This was after almost two hours of queuing. Of course, what he meant was, ‘They have bad fog in Heathrow’, which could be, but what the hell has that to do with you bastards only operating one service desk? I kid you not, the efficient Germans are no more. By the time I was told to catch a ride (if I am lucky) with British Airways, the amount of people wanting to be serviced had grown to a weary line at least 60 metres long.

Things can only get worse. They did! Starving and dying of thirst, I was eventually tossed like the old rag that I am, on to some British Airways flight, that having been delayed more times than a Zimbabwean economic revival, had a pilot dead-bent on a suicide mission and attempted to land a plane crammed with petrified passengers on a runway covered in a mantle of fog thick enough to spread on a BA dried out bread bun. Anticipating this I cleverly emptied my innards prior to landing, thus, should the worse come to worse, the plane crashes, I wouldn’t be fried in my own shit encrusted pants.

Now safely landed, it should have been much ado about nothing until I realised I had no baggage. Well I did but that had disappeared, which, to put it mildly, was a bit of a pisser. Since I was flying the next day to Africa, this was a tad inconvenient, not to mention downright serious bad news! For the one and only time in my life I had separated my body from my file-o-fax. In it was every access code for everything. Nice one! Also my beloved Swiss Army knife. Any man knows, you don’t go anywhere without one of them. If you neglect to take one, sure enough, a horse will turn-up with a pebble stuck in its hoof and you are left embarrassingly explaining to its frantic rider, that as a former Boy Scout, you have failed miserably due to heavy fog.

There was also another small problem. The camera was also inside the missing suitcase, complete with the brand new 2GB chip. Just bought for this trip! Actually, this came as a blessing in disguise because it meant being forced to buy another one, and that’s when I did a clever thing. After checking out the various mini-digi toys at the Vat free shop in the departure lounge and concluding a modern 35mm beast was - a) too bulky and b) taking the piss on the price, a Sony Cyber shot was purchased. The latest. It is unquestionably the stupidest designed camera on the market. There are buttons in the way of thumbs and knobs that twirl around just by breathing on them. BUT it has one amazing advantage. This little mini SLR looker, has the most genius of Carl Zeiss lens, that zooms an incredible 38-380mm! Okay, the f stops aren’t exactly very clever, but considering its size and speed of reload, it is a babe!

With a 2GB card and set to 5 mill pixs plus, it is perfect for the very serious amateur.

So, I will tell you more of my adventures over the next few days, but to kick start the whole malarkey off, here is a 3 minute YouTube of the first part. I tried to dub in some Namibian Folk Music, but sadly the PC wasn’t having it.

Till Part Two. Stay tuned, there are more great pictures to come, including the amazing sand dunes of the SouSouVlei and more hilarious observations…

A Millionaire’s Tipple

This photo is doing the rounds at the moment.

It is the story of a beer. That beautiful brown stuff we all love. Real Rhodies drank only Castle. Now, this beer in the photo, cost at a bar in Harare the other day, Z$ 1.000 000 (One million!)

The poor person wanting to drink this beer had to first cue for hours at the bank to get money. It is hard to believe, but there is a shortage of the stuff at the moment. Eventually he got some, but only in Z$500 notes. (Dunno why one pile has a 1000 label, but the rest are obviously 500 notes.)

As you can see, it came to four huge ‘bricks’ of the stuff, each a quarter million, to pay for the beer. Now remember, in August last year, the government lobbed three zeros of the currency, to ‘curb inflation’! That would have made it 1 billion.

Now, look at the next photo. This is what I used in 1978 to pay for a beer in the Midlands hotel in Gwelo.

Some of you might recall a spoof I did a while back about Zimbabwe and the Guinness Book of records. Now it is no joke – this is taken from the Zim Independent

ZIMBABWE yesterday broke a new record by being the only country in the
world with a national budget running into quadrillions (15 zeroes),
reflecting its highest inflation on the globe, and possibly making another
dramatic entry in the Guinness Book of World Records.

Finance minister Samuel Mumbengegwi presented a $7,8 quadrillion
budget to parliament amid disbelief among MPs and the public about the
government’s chaotic fiscal policy.

Mumbengegwi, whose budget concept and delivery were widely described
as "pathetic", dramatised his failure to measure up to the task by even
failing to read budget figures before him. The minister pronounced the
figures wrongly before giving up when it became clear he was mixing up
things.

MPs laughed while the public watched in disbelief.

Mumbengegwi’s budget was $7 840 000 000 000 000. According to the US
weights and measures system — which Zimbabwe uses in monetary issues — this
figure is $7,8 quadrillions.

However, if converted to the US dollars, it comes down to a mere
US$5,3 billion at the Old Mutual Implied Rate of US$1: Z$1,5 million. If the
official rate of $30 000 is used the figure jumps to a massive $261 billion
but this does not reflect the real value of the budget.

In US measurements, figures with six zeroes are a million, nine zeroes
is a billion, 12 zeroes is a trillion, 15 zeroes is a quadrillion.

The next figure after this is a quintillion (18 zeroes) followed by a
sextillion (21 zeroes) and it goes up to googol for 100 zeroes and then
infinite after 600 zeroes. No country has a quadrillion in the world today.

Due to hyperinflation, Zimbabwe’s budgets could soon deteriorate to
quintillions. Officially, Zimbabwe has the highest inflation of more than 14
000%.

Time for some laughs.

Well, the legacy of Ian Smith will be debated for years to come. Listening to some views from non-Rhodesians, I saw a common pattern. They accused Smith of being the one who created Mugabe. A comparison would be that retributions imposed on Germany after the WW1 created Adolf Hitler. It’s a lot more complicated than that!

It was very interesting to read the condolences and comments written by loads of people on the Bush Telegraph forum site. A few people I recognised. Quite moving to read them all.
---

Well, the show must go on! Oddly enough, Ian Smiths death coincided with my first exam for my latest course, Writing Plays! Yup, I am going to be a playwright. (Why it isn’t spelled playwrite, is beyond me.)

Well, not really. I thought it would be a good idea to give it a go, because it might help me polishing up dialogue and force me to use more precise descriptions.

Here is the exam –

You should present an outline idea for a short play based on ‘The Three Little Pigs’.
A complete cast list (max 200 words)
The outline scenario for the whole play, dividing the action up into scenes and writing briefly what happens in each one. (max 300 words)
A complete scene, using 2 main characters and no more than 2 subsidiary characters. The scene should incorporate a longer speech or monologue (70 -100 words) for one of the characters. The scene should be a maximum of 3 minutes in length

First problem, there are many versions of the three little pigs. So I did some research like all good writers do.

Hard to believe, but I came across a version, with exactly the same illustrations as the one I used to read to my baby brother in early ‘70s. This is the version I remember.
In this one, all the pigs get the building materials donated by local NGO’s.

Two pigs get eaten and the wolf gets boiled to death, whilst the third pig watches grinning his head off! It was a Ladybird book. They were the best, with really well drawn, detailed pictures. Now that’s the version I like. Clear, precise, to the point and prepares kids for the outside world.

The moral of the story is very clear – Either get a job as a brickie, or stay at school and qualify for a job so you can pay for one, otherwise…

your fucked!

But we have to look for other examples…

http://www.bbc.co.uk/cbeebies/tweenies/storytime/stories/3littlepigs/

The BBC kiddies web site has an animated active version. In it, no one gets hurt, the pigs suffer from xenophobia. (Having not been told by mother pig to watch out for the wolf who might want to eat them, therefore, they simply refuse the wolf entry to their houses because he looks strange. The wolf at no time says he wants to eat them.) The first two pigs are promoted as being lazy, idiots and cowards. The building materials are conveniently ‘found’. I.E. the story promotes theft as being a way of life.
Finally, in a pathetic showdown, the three pigs (who are ludicrously called Tom, Dick and Harry), join forces and blow the wolf away. Total load of brainless waffle. I was gob smacked after watching it. The characters were completely characterless; the animations couldn’t animate attention even from a liberal in solitary confinement in Mugabes’ cells for the last 20 years.

This is political correctness at the extreme. At the end of the story, the only thing you ponder over is, if you would get caught blowing up the BBC. The moral of this story, is to leave school at 14, become a cowardly thief and blow away, with your mates, anyone not in your sphere of understanding beyond having unprotected sex and binge drinking.

I didn’t dare go and look if they have raped any more classic tales. I can see it –

The 3 Goats William and the Asylum Seeker under the bridge.

In this up-to date scenario, two goats apologise for not understanding the asylum seekers plight, are short of a few quid, but the biggest Willie will sort him out. He duly arrives with a truck full of U.N. aid relief. The asylum seeker is eternally grateful, becomes a vegetarian and spends his life helping the handicapped cross the bridge, when he aint signing-on.

With my blood really boiling, I wrote my play.

It contains everything I could think of for getting failed. Rampant violence, blasphemy, racism, petty childish quips and quirks, pathetic innuendos and drunken acting! I couldn’t fit in any incest or homosexuality because I ran out of words, BUT I did get some rape in! The play only took 7 minutes to write, as there is very little dialogue besides squeals and howls. Most of the page is taken up with stage directions, things like –

PIG 1 is now bludgeoned to death with baseball bat by WOLF, who is pissed and stoned out of his head. When finished WOLF takes a line of coke and picks up chain-saw and walks over to PIG 2 whilst fondling his penis, which now has a huge erection.

I entitled my masterpiece –

I’m a Celebrity Wolf, Get the Pigs Out of Here.

I based it on a T.V. program.

Nah, not really, but Ian’s passing did add extra, emotionally inspired dramatics, to my play. The idea had been formulated already.

So here is MY version of the three little pigs. It is just a coincidence that my pigs are white and the wolf is black. There are black pigs. That’s where we get black puddings from, right! And of course, there are white wolves because Jack London tells us so. But I tried to stick to the classic tale. You are more than welcome to read this out to your children and even maybe act out the last scene. They will learn lots!

I think I should get at least 55% for this effort!

4th December 2007 - this has been removed as it was contravening Open University regulations.

Ian Smith - "What has that to do with me?"

Taken from Reuters Web site. Wed 21 Nov 2007

Smith is history for hard-pressed Zimbabweans

By Cris Chinaka

HARARE (Reuters) - Zimbabweans battling massive inflation and chronic food shortages on Wednesday showed little inclination to reflect on the death of Rhodesia's last white leader.

Ian Smith, who defied the world for 15 years and plunged the country into war, died in South Africa on Tuesday aged 88.

But for a population ravaged by a severe economic crisis many blame on President Robert Mugabe, who took power after the country finally became independent Zimbabwe in 1980, Smith was already yesterday's man.

"He was a historic relic, and many people are concerned today about their daily lives, about survival," said Eldred Masunungure, a political analyst.

Under Mugabe's 27-year rule Zimbabwe has plunged from prosperity to penury. The country once called the "bread basket" of southern Africa is now suffering from persistent shortages of foreign currency, fuel, food, drugs and electricity.

Shops are largely empty of basic foodstuffs.

Zimbabweans scrounge daily to find commodities, including the staple maize meal, bread, milk, sugar, beef and cooking oil, which are now sold on the black market at prices much higher than those set by the government.

An estimated 3 million Zimbabweans -- a quarter of the national population -- have sought jobs and homes abroad, many of them illegally, as they flee the crumbling economy.

Many ordinary blacks still resent Smith for resisting black majority rule, but they are too preoccupied with the daily toil of survival to give much thought to him.

NO PUBLIC GRIEVING

There was no public grieving for "Good Old Smithy" as he was known to his white followers.

An elderly white woman shopping for grocery bargains at a city supermarket on Wednesday morning shrugged her shoulders when asked about Smith's death.

"What has that to do with me?" she said, walking away.

Smith occupied no formal position after leaving parliament but maintained that the country was better off under his rule and that Mugabe had ruined Zimbabwe.

"He (Mugabe) should have gone long ago. He has ruined a wonderful country," Smith told Reuters in 2000.

Mugabe dismisses white Zimbabweans opposed to his rule as hankering for Smith's racist Rhodesia.

The white population, estimated to have shrunk to about 40,000, has kept a low political profile since often violent farm seizures by Mugabe's supporters started seven years ago.

Political commentator and leading Mugabe critic John Makumbe told Reuters TV that Smith had died a disappointed man because his dream of stopping majority rule had been shattered but that he had similar to traits to Mugabe.

"They are very unfortunate similarities between Robert Mugabe and Ian Smith in terms of practising racism, violence, bad governance and bad policies," he said.

"But that must not be taken to mean Ian Smith is vindicated but just that Robert Mugabe inherited certain traits from Smith," Makumbe said.

Mugabe blames the collapse of Zimbabwe's once thriving economy on Western sabotage but foreign critics say it is the result of chronic mismanagement.