Masola waDabudabu

I beg you to look around and see leaders engulfed in self enrichment. Look at most people of influence trampling upon the rights of the majority.

Look at the selfish big-wigs bent on fattening themselves in a fashion similar to cattle being readied for the meat market.

Look at the leaders engaging in the draconian “live and let die” approach. Should it not be live and let live?

Should they not eat what they can and leave some for the people?

Should the national cake only be for the fat lazy few?

Should the national cake only satisfy those who are endowed with fasts amounts of insatiable greed?

Should the rest of us take solace from the crumbs that are thrown into the bins by the few?

Apologies for drooling while watching the big fish in the small pond gobbling up everything.

We watch with glee as the satisfied few fart foul stenches after eating everything that could be eaten. Should we be thanking our lucky stars for smelling the foul smell from the belching chefs?

Should we the majority toil as we clean up the mess carelessly ejected from the bowels of the rotund chéfs? Look at us lick our sore pride as we fight for bread crumbs and leftovers on tables.

We are indeed a dehumanised nation. We are wounded lions that have succumbed to the perfidy of sheep. We are cowards under the spell of the more cowardly.

The sheep that dominate us have earned nobility by virtue of eroding the nobility of the majority. Technically we are all doomed.

Watch us as we succumb to doom!

We seem to know how to fight among ourselves. We push, shove and jostle just to have a glimpse of the privileged few ferociously consuming the cake we all aspire to have a fair amount of.

Our hungry women, wives, daughters and sisters ululate as the powerful render a wicked gulp of the cake. We clap our tied hands that are bound by poverty as the few eat for us.

We encourage our adolescent boys and girls who are thin, lanky and ungainly to sing praises as leaders eat away the only hope for survival.

The nation’s cake may not survive this voracity. Who is going to save the cake from the jaws of the greedy few? Whose noble duty shall it be to preserve some of the cake for future generations?

Whose duty shall it be to make sure the very few pay for the cake they steal? Who will make sure that the malnutrition children are rehabilitated back to normalcy? Who shall the starving people turn to for a decent slice of the cake?

The dough that is used for baking the cake is no more. The people of the land are gathered in hungry funeral vigils to mourn the passing away of the cake.

While people mourn, some of those responsible for the disappearance of the national cake are busy looking around for loopholes to rob the people of their dignity. The lethargic people can only watch as the future of the nation is obscenely raped.

Yes, the people cannot do much. This apparent collective docility of the people seemingly encourages the unkind to be more cruel.

One day the people will demand a piece of cake. A cake on the plate of each will be what the people demand. Woe unto those who had been accustomed to being reckless in their approach to the national cake.

That is how revolutions are cultivated. It is about cake. No piece of cake, no peace. No peace no happy chéf. Usually when there is no happy chéf, it means the chickens would have come home to roost.

Masola waDabudabu is a social commentator