The taxi drivers whistle and ululate. Then the prophet speaks: "My followers, thank you for bailing me out of prison. I shall remember you as I drive my Porsche. Now, I have to deal with some xenophobic statements that have been made against me."
The people lean forward, listening. He continues: "My people, I might have been born in Malawi, but I am a South African now. Thank you, Missus NoMo Gigabyte for sorting out the papers. You like your Louis Vuitton bag? Excellent."
He clears his throat, then continues: "And I've paid my taxes. Directly to Mister Moyamoya. And thank you, comrade Mguptama and your Black Rand First, for making me politically relevant. Some of the jealous people cry that I am feathering my nest with money from poor people's pockets. If a congregant at my church gives me his last savings of R60,000, do you want me to run away?
"Unlike Lady Mvula'iyana who collects braai packs and whiskies every month from Don Wazzoni for doing absolutely nothing, I, on the other hand, am a master of service delivery. If a person wants to imagine himself being rich and happily married, they only have to pay me - and their dreams become bigger and bigger.
"Look, people, I need every smallanyana contribution because my daughter has gotten bored with that Maserati that I bought her when she turned five.
"She says a car that sells for a measly R2m does not befit her status anymore. So, people, put your heads together so that by the time I come back next week, there shall be something in the bag for me."
With those words, Major One flies off to Cape Town, arriving just in time to catch President Thuma Mina delivering his Sona: "Forget pit latrines, we're going to give all school-going children tablets. From now on, our classrooms will be paperless," he proclaims.