Millions intended to be spent on the health needs of Eastern Cape residents have gone missing from d.
While I am still on a high, disabusing you folks of your stereotypes of blacks, let me indulge you by disproving the notion that antisocial, violent behaviour is a non-white thing. This is no excuse for Pirates players to strangle the linesman or for Chiefs fans to set the stadium alight when they lose.
Here we go. He was white, this fellow, and could have stood almost seven feet tall. I believe I have a built-in sensor that enables me to spot whites who hate blacks merely by looking at them. No doubt this one was not madly in love with blacks.
It was a year or so ago when I was linked to a cruise-boat business on the Vaal River.
On this hot summer morning, this fellow came on board as part of a group of farmers being entertained by a large agricultural products manufacturer. He threw me a disapproving look and demanded to know who owned the boat, punctuating his question- cum-demand with "jong!".
My instincts about him were spot on.
When the cruise got going he started gorging himself on generous slugs of brandy, gin, beer and wine. In no time he was motherless - and bored. To relieve his boredom he went around the barge picking up the farmers at random and holding them upside down with their heads almost touching the water, threatening to drop them in.
He was as strong as an ox. His victims screamed and kicked around frantically while he guffawed garrulously, pleased with himself. When there was no one within reach to scare, he would pick up a plastic chair, break it and throw the pieces into the water, destroying four chairs in all.
An official from the hosting manufacturers whispered guardedly that we should not make a scene - he would compensate the cruise-boat business for the damage.
Occasionally he (let's call him "Aardvark") would throw a sneer my way and I would cringe, imagining him yanking me off my feet and, because he clearly did not like me, hurling me into the still but deep water.
Aardvark disappeared into the toilet and a small group of farmers came up to me to apologise for his behaviour, disowning him.
He was, they said, a non-farmer who was on the trip to accompany his brother-in-law. While they were swearing about what they would do to him back home, he reappeared from the toilet and a hushed silence fell over the boat. All smiled sheepishly. Clearly no one messed with Aardvark.
The fun was only beginning. He staggered to the braai stand, looked sleepily at the meat, lifted the grill and threw it - the meat and the grill - into the water.
By now we had made a U-turn and were heading back home. The embarrassed silence . we could have been at a funeral and the damn boat was so slow it seemed to be moving in reverse.
Then he lost it altogether. He removed his cellphone and wallet from his pocket and, for no reason at all, threw the lot into the river.
We docked, eventually, and my anger at Aardvark was only diluted by a queer sense of relief that even "they" have their sh**houses.