Spare us your sick culture

I am a Motswana. By the way I am no choc-ice. I don’t belong with the Benny comes to town variety. The kind that is brown on the outside and white beneath. My moral constitution wasn’t shaped by clichés from American sitcoms or specially selected expletives from American townships I never visited.

I have the same affinity for my roots, and for my country, as does Tanya Tucker.  It is for a reason that I like the song “Texas, When I Die”. When I die, I want to go to heaven. But if as my detractors have suggested they don’t admit lawyers there, then I am happy to go to back to Mahalapye. That village “is as close as I have been”.

I am not being cynical. I am just being truthful. To be sure, I was born in Francistown. I have every right to claim to have been born in a Spaghetti town and what more; to swear like a parrot. But I was raised in the village, in a traditional African home. I am the product of a strict Tswana culture. I treasure it. I hold dear my peoples traditions. They are my identity. Culture is a beautiful thing. And I do not by any means claim to be a model of perfection.

Editor's Comment
Prosecutors deserve better

These legal professionals, who are entrusted with upholding the rule of law, face numerous challenges that compromise their ability to effectively carry out their duties.Elsewhere in this edition, we carry a story on the lamentations of the officers of court.The prosecutors have raised a number of concerns, calling for urgent attention from all relevant stakeholders, including the President, Minister of Justice and the Attorney General. Their...

Have a Story? Send Us a tip
arrow up