Brenda has been nagging me to emigrate (I presume she means us, and not just me) on the spurious grounds that South Africa is going to hell in a hand-basket. I don’t want to leave. I reckon in twenty years’ time this country will be the Switzerland of Africa, only with no white people and none of their filthy monopoly capital.

I am constantly looking for ways to convince her there’s nothing wrong with this country. Mostly, I do it by keeping the newspapers away from her. The media does nothing but confuse people and slowly drive them mad.

On Wednesday I allowed Brenda to turn on the telly and watch your press conference. I was hoping that once she saw how intelligent and articulate the next generation of leaders were, she would have renewed faith in the future of our great country. I think it worked. She hasn’t said a word since. I expect she is overcome with joy and optimism.

I like you guys. I really do. You remind me of me when I was that age – veering wildly between incendiary anger and juvenile gaiety. There’s nothing quite like being young, free and bipolar.

Speaking of gaiety, I think you should be aware of something. Your secretary-general – the unfashionably emaciated one with the passion gap between his teeth – has a thing for you. Every time you opened your mouth, his limpid cow-eyed gaze would settle longingly on your Rubenesque lips. To be fair, it may be that he is simply longing for nothing more than your position. Either way, I wouldn’t turn my back on him for too long.

Floyd did an admirable job keeping the counter-revolutionary puppet media under control. It couldn’t have been easy considering how many bastard agents were sloping about with imperialist equipment in their hands and rubbish in their trousers.

It was masterful how you compared your five year suspension with Nelson Mandela’s 27 years in jail by saying there was no comparison. Sheer genius. Then you said people should be careful of sending you to prison for your political beliefs (tarted up as corruption charges) because they don’t know what kind of leader might emerge. Invoking the spectre of great leaders like Idi Amin, Mobutu Sese Seko, Sani Abacha and Laurent Kabila was a smart move. Nobody will dare prosecute you now.

You also denied ever having influenced tenders on the grounds that you were not bright enough to pull it off. As you pointed out, you’ve never even had a formal job. “I know nothing,” you said. Three simple words. That’s all it took for millions of people to agree with you.

One of the obstructionist quislings from the reactionary press asked who you perceived the enemy to be. For some reason, you left it to a woman to provide the answer. Big mistake. When your table is adrift on a turning tide of testosterone and mucho macho bravado, don’t get the token lady leader to answer a question like that. Especially not when she’s been shunted so far from the action that she’s got one leg in the parking lot. She is the Squeaky Fromme of the national democratic revolution. Of course she is going to tell a roomful of journalists that they are the enemy. But one day the enemy is going to sober up and stop passing on messages like this to the rest of the nation. In the meantime, you may as well keep getting the gravediggers to dig their own graves.

Good luck in finding a proper job.

Yours in the struggle for truth, justice and tenders,

Cde Ben Trovato