In another twist involving the public protector’s office‚ the Minister of Co-operative Governance an.
Years back, when yours truly belonged to Azangro (Azanian Groovers), colleague and fellow founding father of the movement Sello Rabothata made the apt observation that some girls are extraordinarily pretty - if they could only keep their mouths shut.
A bit about Azangro: it was a parallel structure formed at about the same time as Azapo.
While Azapo focussed on the dangerous, un-glamorous ideal of emancipation, Azangro was tasked with harvesting as much fun as possible in spite of apartheid's quest to make life a misery for blacks.
A typical day in the life of an Azangroan comprised making a brief appearance in the office - usually a newsroom - rattling off a story or two on the typewriter and vanishing into the township to "chase after more possible stories".
That normally was a euphemism for boozing it up in the then illegal shebeens until the early hours of the morning.
Azangro fizzled as more and more members got married and submitted to petticoat governance.
It was in those days that an Azangroan told us about a beautiful girl he had met and chatted up. He asked her what she was doing and she said she was a student at Turfloop (now University of the North).
"Great. What are you studying?"
"Bongaka (medicine)," the pretty dumbo said.
That one word, bongaka, nullified what could have evolved into a beautiful romance - and later possibly marriage. Turfloop has never had a medical school and everyone knows that.
As the comrades shared their tales, one recalled being in a restaurant with a pretty woman he was trying to impress. After feasting on a sumptuous three-course meal, he asked for a toothpick.
Thinking his lady might also need one, the waiter turned to her and asked if she also needed a toothpick.
She waved him off smiling contentedly: "Hayi, sengisuthi manje," (No thanks, I'm full).
Those days you were the man if you wore Florsheim shoes, Dobshire pants and bought LP records every weekend.
Every now and then you had to buy a "barrel" of chicken - 24 pieces, I think it was - from Dairy Den roadhouse, south of Joburg.
Now, on this night, everyone in the car placed their order, and pretty Miss Dumbo was asked what she wanted.
She did not know, poor thing, that she was asking for chicken to feed a whole tribe.
They duly ignored her and got her a burger.
Another comrade told of a pretty airhead he took to a restaurant for breakfast. He ordered an omelette and the waiter wanted to know what to put inside it.
"I will have ham, cheese and onions," the comrade said.
"And you, madam?" the waiter asked the comrade's dumbo.
"I will also have an omelette," she said sweetly.
"And what must I put inside the omelette?" the waiter asked.
"Err, put in some eggs."
Sello was right.
Some are really pretty ... until they open their mouths to speak.