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Ausi Maggie’s daughter

Ausi Maggie’s daughter back from ko overseas, where she was doing a degree in mass communication specialising in television.

Because of her studies in television and because she is based ko abroad, Chicken and Mr Kool already treat her as a celebrity.

They cherish every opportunity that they have in her company, especially if it is in public or in the mall where they will make sure that they are the centre of attraction.

Both of them refer to her as “my favourite niece who is based overseas.” In fact radio mall is already speculating that the two men must be related since they have a common niece in Ausi Maggie’s now famous daughter. Sometimes Chicken takes a short cut in the introductions and just says; “ Meet my niece wa celeb!”

On the whole, Mr Kool does not take too kindly to the whole prospect of even being remotely related to Chicken.

The radio mall rumour has spread so widely all over town that Mr Kool has made it a point to set the record straight in his introductions of the fine young lady.

“This is my niece, she’s ma gal and we ain’t related to nobody. Least of all a pantsula-walking, tsotsi-taal talking hoodlum!”

As luck would have it, Chicken caught wind of this vivid description of his mannerism  and speech habits. Not surprisingly, our man from Soweto is none too pleased. He decides to use the platform of the Nitty Gritty, that house of spirits where only the truth will set you free, to air his grievances to all who will listen.

The patrons are congregated around the oblong table partaking of the partakables and drinking the drinkables, and will not be disrupted, disturbed or interrupted.

Chicken is itching  to talk and Mr Kool, who knows exactly what it is all about, will not give him the opportunity to do so.

“Look man, Chicken man, these guys are busy. Nobody wants to listen to your sob story, and besides, you can’t change the topic cause you ain’t paid for the next round of drinks!” he says, trying to discourage him.

But our man will not be dissuaded or discouraged. “My name is Chicken and I am a card-carrying member of the democratic party, so I believe in democracy and free speech!”

“We also know that you believe in free booze as well!” someone shouts from the kitchen.

Then Nikita begins to interrogate him; “Which democratic party do you belong to? We would like to know before you address us. Tell us, which one?”

“What are you asking me? Jy’s

mal, theres mos entlek only one democratic party hier so in Botswana,” replies Chicken rather knowledgeably.

“Okho! Just because the others don’t use the word as their middle name does not mean that they are less democratic!”

“Ya well, this is not party politics. I want to express my freedom of speech right here and now!” insists Chicken.

“You mean you want to exercise your freedom. The word is exercise,” says Nikita, trying to correct him.

“No, I really do mean express. If I was to really exercise, a lot of you here would be in hospital in bandages and crutches as a result of my exercising.

But ek is in a good mood vandag. Ek wil express myself so as a gentleman van democracy and diplomacy.”

“Anyway, rra, the fact is ga ona madi so you can’t express sh*t. No money, no funny. You have to put your money where your mouth is. In other words, money talks, and bullshit walks. So you better exercise your legs and express your ass outta my face!”

Nikita picks it up from Mr Kool and says, “I’m not sure what the pseudo-American brother from the lost tribes of Blackamerica is trying to say, but I just want to remind you that it is a fallacy to think that even in your so-called democratic world, free speech has no price.

That price can be expressed in monetary terms that can only be set by your democratic leaders and afforded by the capitalistic few.”

Chicken changes his tone suddenly and looks down like a puppy that has been chastised and says;

“Oh, what a great pity that I am not allowed to talk freely. I was just going to announce that I have found sponsorship from a men’s rights organisation overseas, through the help of my favourite niece, to organise a Mr Thong contest.

I told them that I want to encourage freedom of expression among men in Botswana, but you ouens are telling me to express my ass out of here, hee weee, hee weee! And I’m saying this is the chance to put my money where your mouths are.

But I can see I am talking to the wrong guys because you apparently don’t believe in freedom of expression.

So I am going to find others who do and we are going to sit around a table filled with food and drinks, and we are going to express ourselves in American dollars too!”

Nitty Gritty



The Parliamentary DIS

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