Ah, Chief Dwasaho! This week, the ANC’s Integrity Commission (what integrity?) cleared King Paul Mashatile of the Alex Mafia nation of corruption allegations relating to his “family homes”. No case existed to begin with. Is this the time to say: I told you so – or is it too early?
Integrity Commission finds no fault… Shock! Horror! Gasp!
According to eNCA, “the ANC’s integrity commission has cleared the party’s Deputy President, Paul Mashatile, of any wrongdoing concerning his luxury homes”.
What law was supposedly broken by spending a night – or perhaps several years – with the in-laws? One is tempted to ask: can the mere fact of maternal hospitality constitute prosecutable misconduct? Surely not. The law of evidence should not be twisted into a pretzel to suit weak gossip, nor should the ANC display such feeble moral imagination as to call this a scandal.
You’d think there would be a law against unethical behaviour and a criminal offence for serious misunderstandings of our legal system. But sadly, no such legislation exists – so spare us the dramatics, the moral grandstanding, and the moral panics.
His Deputyship is a man of high moral standing. He once told the “now-disgraced” broadcaster, JJ Tabane, the unvarnished truth: “I don’t steal, I’ve never been involved in corruption.”
I have no doubt he was right. I see no reason to believe that poorly educated journalists with sleeping problems, an affinity for adult beverages, and, some might say, poor judgement in choosing life partners, can hold a man – or men – to account. Who guards the guardians?
Guardians, bribes and Dior bags
Speaking of guardians, my esteemed colleague Pieter-Louis Myburgh swears he’s delivered what could be the first exposé to catch a bribe recorded on video. The stars of this production? The recently suspended Independent Development Trust (IDT) CEO, Tebogo Malaka, and the entity’s smooth-talking spokesperson, Phasha Makgolane.
For the record, the IDT is a proud entity of the Department of Public Works and Infrastructure – yes, that very department which delivers on its promises with all the speed and efficiency of a one-legged tortoise on crutches.
It appears Malaka has developed a sizeable property portfolio, including a R16-million mansion tucked neatly inside Gauteng’s Waterfall Country Estate. And of course – courtesy of… well, you see, I have a weak heart, a single loving wife, type 2 diabetes, an unpaid bond, and 10 children who depend on me. In other words, I’m in no position to be sued.
Death of corruption with class
Still, the standards of bribes have plummeted in this country: R60,000, stuffed into a white Dior shopping bag and slipped into a white envelope – note, not the classic, respectable brown – handed over in broad daylight at a wine farm restaurant. That alone should have been the first red flag.
The second? Conducting the handover at an outdoor table, in full view of fellow diners, as if corruption were now an Olympic spectator sport.
Now, everyone knows bribes are meant to be exchanged in dull, smoke-filled, dimly lit rooms overrun with the gentle soundtrack of pole dancers, political crosstitutes, cross-dressers, prostitutes, drug dealers and well-built, tall Nigerian bouncers with menacing, bloodshot eyes. Men, in various stages of intoxication and ill-concealed lust, lean against sticky counters, while drug pushers glide from table to table, making furtive hand signs – two fingers to the nose – signalling that cocaine is on offer.
In other words, Pieter-Louis was dealing with amateurs. And really, R60,000? What an insult. You attempt to bribe a youngish white male born after apartheid – no land, no farm, no guaranteed job – with R60,000, when a single bottle of Glenfiddich 50-year-old was going for R600,000 in Makro’s festive-season catalogue in November 2023.
Bribing in instalments: A 24-month, no-interest deal
The amount of money exchanged is the kind of offer you make when trying to buy a second-hand 1912 Toyota Corolla with one missing hubcap. Worse, my leader, they promised Pieter-Louis regular R100,000 payments and easy access to IDT tenders…
But here’s the punchline: he’d have to do the work himself. Organise the contractors, submit the paperwork and launch a foundation to process the kickbacks before withdrawing the cash, leaving a paper trail thicker than the Zondo Commission’s final report. What sort of bribery syllabus is this? “How to Incriminate Yourself 101”?
At this rate, the next bribe will be handed over at a Woolworths checkout counter, wedged between a rotisserie chicken and a packet of organic baby spinach. If IDT head honchos can’t even organise a bribe with a bit of class, perhaps it’s time they subcontracted the job to the real professionals – the ones who still believe in the brown envelope, a dingy club and the bouncer who knows when to look away.
Public service announcement
To all aspiring State Capturers, tenderpreneurs and amateur bribers – do not, under any circumstances, attempt to bribe anyone in instalments. It is bad form, unbecoming of the grand South African tradition, and frankly insulting to your intended target.
Now, everyone understands there are rules. Bribes, like ANC branch annual general meetings and their elective conferences, require a ceremony of the disgraced. Instead, these two chose a Sunday afternoon in the Cape Winelands, perhaps thinking the chardonnay would pair well with their criminal intent.
Bloody idiots. Comrades, at least have the decency to do it properly: one payment, no paper trail, and preferably somewhere without a wine list and cameras.
Of bribes, low class and no manners
On the subject of bribes, many moons ago, a journalist walked into my office at the legislature, where I was serving as a media liaison officer. He was a familiar face – the kind of reporter who was practically part of the furniture in the media gallery.
Without ceremony, as he lowered himself into the chair opposite me, I calmly closed my laptop and flipped my documents facedown. In those days, this was a standard practice, part of what the then National Intelligence Agency said was “protocol”. We exchanged the usual pleasantries and small political talk.
Then he got to the point. He claimed to have a mobile broadcast truck that could revolutionise our media coverage in community radio. I nodded politely, letting him make his case. And then came the hook: if I gave his company the job (tender), we would “share the spoils”.
Imagine walking past tight security, through the body scanner, into my office, and proposing a bribe without even an imvula mlomo to sweeten the deal – not so much as a courtesy cold beer or even a token gesture like a Glenfiddich 12-year-old. Just the raw, unseasoned proposition, slapped onto my desk like a resignation letter.
Covert operation or the dumbest criminals?
I looked him squarely in the eye and delivered the classic ANC denial: “I do not sit in tender committees.” He stood up and left, an egg on his face – clearly runny, dripping, and visible from across the corridor.
I threw my hands in the air, defeated, displeased, disillusioned, disheartened, disgusted, and frankly disturbed. What on Earth gave him the idea that I was bribeable? Was this a loyalty test, or was I on some underground BlackBerry Messenger list of “low-maintenance” targets?
The audacity haunted me for years. In the old political underworld, such an approach would have been carefully choreographed: a discreet third-party intermediary, a plausible cover story, and a brown envelope slipped under a desk marked “Confidential.” But here was a man pitching corruption like a Makro clearance sale – blunt, artless, shame-free.
I could not decide which was worse: his insult to my principles or the craft of bribery itself. If you’re going to try to buy my silence, at least have the professional courtesy to follow the rules of the game. This, Comrades, was corruption without class.
My leader, askies. I read in the news that the pipe-smoking former president, Thabo Mbeki, has joined forces with the FW de Klerk Foundation, other foundations and the Freedom Front Plus to snub the National Convention – the supposed launchpad for the National Dialogue.
What common cause does Mbeki have with the apartheid apologists? Is it now a bridge too far to bribe the foundations?
Neither Woolworths nor Makro offered financial or material support for this article. No bribes were paid or accepted, no animals harmed, and no journalists killed, as in Gaza.
Till next week, my man. Send me to the IDT for a classy bribe. DM