Twenty-eight female guards were unfairly dismissed by a security company because the client‚ Metrora.
PRESIDENT Jacob Zuma has his work cut out for him, yes sir!
For my part, I think Msholozi can keep his job, and I pray he does it well - though he needs some divine intervention.
And, yes, there was a time when I thought if blacks ever got to get the vote, I'd be the obvious choice for president. Serious. Sadly, that never came to pass. The man from Nkandla beat me to it, but I feel sorry for him, and we all should.
Imagine being head honcho of 50million people, formerly sworn enemies, hungry, angry, impatient, ambitious, hollering demands to government in 11 languages - while claiming they are "one" people.
Imagine having to tell the 45million or so blacks living in abject poverty and with no hope of a job, that a "better life for all" is a reality. Saying it in an election campaign is easy, but delivering is another story.
Millions of folks who can hardly write their mothers' names if you paid them to do it are standing on the sidelines, hoping that now that they have voted for the "best" man good tidings are nigh.
Hundreds of thousands of people toting matric certificates are literally ageing waiting to get their first decent job, and it might never come. The few "luckier" ones (including many graduates) end up pumping petrol into cars at garages, packing baked beans on supermarket shelves or licking stamps in the post office. Some have to make ends meet slaughtering chickens and pigs on farms or digging graves and washing corpses in mortuaries.
Msholozi is expected to sort it all out, and the poor man is no magician.
As for me - and call this sour grapes if it gives you a high - I am eternally grateful I am not president. I have to accept it does not look likely that I will become one, except, perhaps, president of my family burial society or the Chronic Loafers Brotherhood of my church. There, too, my chances don't look good.
And while I accept the bitter-sweet reality, I am grateful that I do not have my wake-up time determined by some operative, often named presidential chief of protocol, who decides when I shall wake up, have breakfast, leave for the Union Buildings, whom I shall meet and when, where I shall have my lunch, whom I can talk to, when I can rest, and even how I may rest. I do not fancy the idea of a pack of mean-looking iron pushers in black suits, wearing dark glasses, speaking into their jackets' sleeves, peeking into the john to see if it is safe each time before I use it. What if I have diarrhoea and have to go every five minutes?
And surely there must be some small print in the Constitution that says every man has the right to decide not to wake up some "morning after", as long as he calls in sick to the office .
All that in addition to smiling, smiling, smiling each time someone points a camera at you, until your jaws lock.
Enjoy it Msholozi. I shall pass.