A mad, evil bastard of a year
It’s Friday. It’s the last job of the year (hopefully) for the Croc and I. That’s the cool part.
The uncool side of the gig is that it’s at Nxamalala. Again.
As usual we have no good reason to be there. At least this time we’re not on a smash and grab to sneak aerial pictures of the Commander in Chief’s pozi. It’s a happier occasion. It’s the annual pensioners party at Nxamalala. It’s one of the many positive spin-offs about having the head of state living in your hood.
It’s not as simple as covering a party though. We’re victims of Doggy Gate. We’re here just in case the CiC mentions the dreaded dog word. It’s a dead dog of a job. If he doesn’t drop a howler (ouch) we’re pretty much in the clear. If the CiC goes all mad dog on us – I’m on the keyboards like Pat Matshikiza.
The CiC’s clearly not happy to see Team City Press. I don’t blame him. We were a real pain in the ass in the run-up to his Mangaung victory. Bad enough that we blew the the lid on the cost of his hacienda. Then we had to go and buzz it in a chopper and publish the first aerial pictures that show just how massive his digs are.
Truth is, we pissed off quite a number of people this year. No just the CiC. We also got Nathi Mthethwa all tongue tied over the wall he built with the SAPS slush fund. And got its owner, General Richard Mdluli, fired.
We got to raid the Babylon’s secret beach resort at Kosi Bay. We also got to swim at Port St John’s Second Beach, where we were investigating why the sharks are eating local lifeguards.
It was a mad, evil bastard of a year. My sister got jailed for muling coke. My parents fled back to Ulster as economic refugees. I managed to stay off the cigarettes. I got my ass dumped by a woman I was madly in love with. I got to watch Feya Faku live. And Bheki Khoza.
There was madness politically. We got to see the CiC drop the hammer on Ju Know Who. Big time. Then there was the Mangaung MasterClass. That was bangin’. We also got to watch the Abahlali baseMjondolo Siyanda transit camp crew wipe the floor with the city of Durban over its dodgy housing practices. They were gangster.
We got to dodge bullets at KwaMashu hostel while watching Mthethwa being chased out by the IFP.
Back to Friday. The CiC gives the Croc the evil eye. He’s already drilled me in Mangaung, so I’m wise to it. I hang back in the crowd of pensioners. The Croc’s a gentle kinda cat. He’s horrified. He shoots the last frames of the CiC cutting a cake. We hit the road.
The Croc’s clearly rattled. So am I. This is just the beginning. We’re both gonna pay a price for our stunts. That’s the way it is.
That’s next year’s headache. I’m outta here. New Year is me and JahNoDead at the Smoking Dragon festival near Bergville. Last year’s was banging. This year’s is gonna be crazed. Our man Scott is running the gig. He’s an OG.
Pull in, ek sê.